


Suspicious Minds

by murpymurpwriter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Empaths, Gen, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2350145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murpymurpwriter/pseuds/murpymurpwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ON HIATUS: Everyone assumes Stiles’ power is his intellect, that he’s an O1 that hasn’t been able to really concentrate and apply his skills. But, Derek has his suspicions. Of all his students, he’ll admit that while he’s a bit critical of B1 Lydia Martin, a bit picky with A1 Scott McCall, with Stilinski he's, well...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He's eight years old today.

They haven't changed the page on the calendar at home, the Humane Society shih tzu puppies still showing February but he knew because he'd written the date on the whiteboard at school. He didn't have to write it in cursive, or write out the word April; the teacher had said this kindly but he wanted to show off. He was a big kid now and it felt good.

Plus, Scott gave him a candy bar as they sat on the bus, even though Stiles wasn't suppose to have sugar; it felt good too. And he wanted to feel more good, no, that wasn't the word. Better, he wanted to feel even better! He wanted Them to compliment and tell him how tall he was getting and how handsome he was at eight years old compared to seven. He wanted Them to look at him like they did before, and eight years old he was certain things would be better than at seven and six. But when he got off the bus, walked the few blocks to his house, all the while patting the house key in his pocket, he didn’t feel so good. What if it was a bad day? What if mommy didn't remember him or daddy was too tired? Did they even remember what today was?

He unlocked the door; his mom had cried when he’d burst in once so he tried to be as quiet as a mouse. Kicking off his shoes, he padded into the living room and he saw them, his mom’s head rested on his dad’s shoulder. He moved closer, wanting to do something, wanting to ask questions but a sense of hopeless kept him quiet as he watched her shake, listened to the quiet murmurs about fire and the screams. Heart pounding, he wondered why he thought eight would be better; he silently walked upstairs.

On Tuesday, with no acknowledgement of his birthday the precious day, Dad would say, "Mommy's not well, son."

“Why don’t you go upstairs, start on your homework, okay, bud?” would be the greeting on Wednesday.

" I need to speak to these...gentlemen about something, " Dad would say Thursday and he, frightened to find his mother no longer at home, would run to his room, " I’ll come get you in a bit. No, its nothing scary. Just work.” 

Friday he doesn't go to school or take his medication for his ADHD; his father takes them to the hospital where he learns his mother has been admitted, and he doesn't try to talk then. He listens to the machines beep, watches her boney chest raise and fall as his father sits quietly. His leg jiggles and he doesn't know which is worse; if his mother wakes up and sees him, the son she hates, or if she never opens her eyes again. They don't stay long and they both go to their separate rooms, his computer awaiting him and whiskey greeting his father in the den.

On Saturday, when he comes downstairs around noon, his belly rumbling and his mouth automatically filling the silence about pancakes and how he could google how to make ones like Mrs. McCall's and how maybe they could bring mom pancakes in the hospital. But his father's phone goes off just as he enters the room and Stiles falls silent, "Can’t we talk about this later, kiddo? I promise, you’ll have my full attention then.”

Monday after school, he goes home with Scott but his father calls right before bed, "Everything is going to be fine. She’ll be home in a few days, alright? Everything is going to get better then.”

His dad didn’t bring him home for two weeks, though; he doesn't call or visit, not even the Friday he comes home with a behavioral notice from his teacher or two weeks later when he has a fat lip courtesy of the playground bully. Things don’t get better after his mom is hospitalized, he doesn't come home after a few days, the McCalls aren't so happy to have him, and the feelings, the ability to talk disappears because what he learned at school that day, a nervous feeling that he desperately wants to share, a worry or idea that makes him nibble his nails and jiggle his knee.. But he still wants to. He wants to talk, he wants things to be better and he wants his mom...He just wanted her to be like she was. Back then, he wanted all the bad things to go away.

And secretly (no, no, it isn't true), maybe he wanted finger shaped bruises, blood pooling in the grout of linoleum floors-

He woke up when the bed moved, blinking in the darkness as a body slid under the covers and cold hands wrapped around his waist. Even colder feet nudged at him and he winced but Scott continued undeterred, settling quietly down to sleep between the wall and Stiles. Scott came through once again, coming to save Stiles from his half-waking nightmares when the other teen's anxiety pulled him from a dead sleep. Heart slowing, Stiles shook off the left over fear and heartache from his dream. He knew this was because of school, because of the upcoming anniversary, because he hadn't seen his dad, because of Scott's newfound popularity, because of his grades and teachers, because of his powers, because off...everything. It was a culmination of all the things Stiles didn’t want to face.

When he felt Scott’s grip slacken and heard his snores start again, he pulled away as carefully as he could. He could already see the sky lightening through the cracks in the blinds and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore. The clock read 5:18am and he counted three finals today, not including the essay he had to turn in to Professor Tate but...he looks at the ruined laptop sitting on his sticky desk and he groans internally. Isaac had promised to fix it at Stiles' urging, but the flaky teen probably wasn't going to follow through in time, despite what sounded like dazed sincerity. Besides, there was still a high chance Danny would say no to checking it out, though Stiles prayed to whatever higher power out there that he would. Still, with classes in only three hours, Stiles knows he has no other choice but to compose his essay all over again just so he has something to offer fourth period.

He dresses quickly, grabbing his books and ID card, looking back once in the dim dorm room to see Scott in his bed and Isaac in the bunk bed across from them. For nearly a minute, he remains frozen in place as he tries to think of a way of getting away without waking Scott; his friend needs his rest and can't be saving everybody, especially not Stiles. His heart pounds when one step makes the floor creak and he watches as Scott turns over; he prays again that Scott, exhausted from midterms no doubt, stays asleep until he's gone. To his complete surprise, Scott does, his snores acting as proof. Stiles breathes an inward sigh of relief and shuts the door quietly behind him, heading down the hallway. He glances upward at the tall, vaulted ceilings and dim lights above; they used to have chandeliers but the increase in students who could levitate created a need for practical and safe lighting. They had replaced most of the main hallway title floors with padded carpet too, for this same reason. They had left the cherry wood paneling, however, and the indulgent portraits of former Deans and well known students and faculty; he ignored those, however. He scoffs to himself, picking up the pace as two thick doors appear straight ahead after a swift left turn. The library is luckily always open, even if it’s discouraged to go in. But there's nowhere else; he knows he won’t be getting back to sleep. It’s nightmare week, he recognizes; it’s close to the anniversary so he won’t be getting more than four hours of sleep until the month ends. And it just so happens that it’s midterms which is a blessing and a curse. On one hand, he’s a nervous wreck and on the other he’s grateful that he has something to do while he can’t sleep. Holding his breath, he pulls open the library door, not surprised when Mrs. Gamenrud glares from the circulation desk.

“Excuse me, young man. We’re closed.”

He has to swallow several times to rid himself of the lump in his throat; why he can’t study until she finishes shelving books, he doesn’t know. Everyone knows the librarian doesn’t sleep, just organizes and shelves books all night due to her mutation, “Um, I know, I’m sorry. But please, it’s midterms and I just really, really need to type something up-"

“ Absolutely not! For mutants of your kind, rest will improve your scores. You should-” Her annoyance turns to a daze which is weird; what’s even weirder is when she says after an odd pause, “ Well, it is midterms...Alright. Just this once.”

He stares and stares some more before she flutters away without a backwards glance, like she hadn’t just been arguing with him. Stiles doesn’t leave the doorway for a full minute, clutching his books, before he remembers his essay. Maybe he shouldn’t look this gift horse in the mouth. He heads to the computer lab, yawning as he shoves open the glass door and flips on the light with his elbow. Hm, maybe it’s just his lucky day. 

Meanwhile, on the Eastside of campus, Professor Derek Tate stirs, blinking in the near dawn. He has a feeling today will not be easy.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Derek sighs, trying to ignore the pungent scent of panic and exhaustion as well as the tail end of faculty conversations as he heads off to prepare for his next class. Out in the hall, he keeps a passive face up in the hopes of diverting any social interaction. It seems to work until he hears a squawk, papers scattering, and a thud around the corner. He pauses, contemplating turning back and taking the long way to his dorm because he of course recognized that groan of pain as well as the prickle at the back of mind that appears only when the flurry of emotion named Stilinski was near. In the end, he slowly rounds the corner to see Stiles using the wall to stand.

"Stilinski, " Derek reads the title page currently pinned to the floor by his boot, " That wouldn’t be the essay I asked to be turned in earlier, would it?"

"Uh…"

Derek rubs the bridge of his nose as Stiles falls to his knees and begins throwing papers back into his bookbag. His attempts to gather and organize quickly grow more frantic with each passing minute, until finally the teen tugs at the title page underfoot, gasping in horror when it tears in half. Scowling, Stiles looks around at the rest of the mess before Derek’s attempted departure catches his attention, “Wait! Professor Tate, I-I-I can have this reprinted and in your office in no time, promise!”

Derek fixes him with a heinous look, ” And why, exactly, do you deserve an extension when all the other students were able to turn theirs in?”

Stiles’ jaw works soundlessly before he tries to stand, effectively scattering the papers he had only moments ago collected. Derek grits his teeth as Stiles begins to grab at the papers again, the teen sputtering out, ” Look, seriously. I did the work early, like suggested, but I lent Scott my flashdrive for his class with Deaton and he accidentally lost everything on it, which is terrible because just last week Isaac fried our shared-custody laptop because no matter how many times I tell him not to drink soda near it-“

Derek shakes his head as he turns to go but only takes one step before Stiles pleads with him again but this time, every muscle in his body freezes, ” Professor Tate, just wait one sec!”

Confused, Derek blinks as suddenly all sounds, including the sounds of papers being shifted, cease; the scent of fear and regret flood the air into everything takes on an orange haze. Derek is sure that Stiles isn’t breathing anymore but then everything is back to normal again and Derek’s other foot meets the floor; the urge to leave has somehow been banished from him but he's no longer incapable of leaving. He slowly turns back to Stiles who’s no longer looking at him and is instead stuffing wadded papers carelessly into his bag. He ignores Derek’s approach, flinching when the other mutant kneels in front of him.

"Stiles-"

"Y-you should go. Just forget about the extension. Actually, please feel free to forget I even exist-"

There it is again; Derek luckily sees it coming but it’s like he’s being willed to forget, to leave. It takes quite a bit of effort to disperse the foreign emotions and intentions penetrating his mind but he does and things are suddenly crystal clear.

" I’m not leaving until you explain what you just did."

Stiles doesn’t say a word, continuing to gather his things until Derek reaches out and begins to collect all the pages from the essay entitled OEP 101: Tate and OEP 104: Deaton, respectively. Stiles looks like a cornered animal at this point but Derek continues to casually organize. Stiles watches him stack and unwrinkle the papers one by one, nervous sweat collecting on his brow before he leans back against the wall and buries his head in his arms. Derek frowns at this but pushes down any sympathy soon after as more attempts to manipulate him knock against his filter, harmless pin pricks given his training but he can't help but view them as far more serious.

Finally, Derek asks softly, “You’re not an O1, are you?”

Stiles doesn’t say a word though his hands begin to shake as they card through his unruly hair. Derek has seen this happen, has heard that these panic attacks are common but usually Scott’s is around to save his friend. No such luck now, Derek thinks as the teen’s breathing becomes harsh and irregular. The urge to leave becomes stronger now but it’s easier to push away, easier to distinguish between his own intentions. He can’t draw out pain like Scott can but he’s seen the other teen do this and just the gestures seems to bring Stiles back. He watches as Stiles rebuilds himself and it pings in the back of his mind that it’s unusual that no one has come across them in what is a typical busy shortcut to the dorms. A chill runs down his spine; how powerful is Stiles?

" I-I can control it. I’m not a threat, I swear. I’m usually really good at this, but with finals and this morning and yesterday…P-Please, don’t tell them, please, please-"

"You compel the teachers and the students, " Derek blurts, finally understanding.

"It’s not like that, I just want them to be safe-"

" You don’t think the truth is safe?" Stiles bites his lip and Derek, anger welling up inside him, continues, " We’re professionals, Stiles. We can handle any kind of mutant thrown our way. You can't hide something this big! We could train you, we could help you! What if someone got hurt—"

The air burns, causing Derek to choke momentarily due to the psychic attack; Derek can tell it is subconscious but this time he shoves back as hard as he can. Stiles’ eyes widen at the backlash, then become lidded as his energy fades. Derek sighs tiredly, rubbing at his face.

He starts to reflect back on Stiles and his experiences with him; it’s clear now that there’s been tampering but it’s sporadic and benevolent, as far as he can tell. It seems for the most part it’s been a defense mechanism as days go by without Stiles (clearly) compelling him or his classmates but then he’ll ask the teen to answer a question on the board, or a classmate wants his attention and there it was, the bright orange haze. Head aching from the turn of events, he turns back to Stiles. Moving to stand, he extends a hand to the teen. Stiles just stares so he rolls his eyes and begins dusting off his slacks instead, leaving the teen on the floor. Just as he thinks the continued lack of student and faculty traffic is a sign of Stiles' power recovering,he hears the distant approach of two giggling girls from down the hall. He tries to not show the amount of relief he feels knowing the teen is now subdued.

"To Deaton, " he leaves no room for discussion, " Now."

\---------


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles faces the repercussions of what happened in the hall.

Deaton wasn't the yelling type, or the soothing, good cop type, or any of the above. He was the manipulative, pretends-to-be-helpful type which makes him the worst teacher/dean that Stiles has ever known. And that's after having Professor Harris three semesters in a row.

Worse, he feels exhausted after the escalation with Professor Tate and thinks if he wasn't up to his eyeballs in stress and self hate, this wouldn't have happened. After all, he'd made it through Basic and Level O with no one suspecting a thing, even after the debacle Scott made by manifesting as an A1 empath in conditioning. They'd even been retested and he'd not been the slightest blip on anyone's radar.

This was because Stiles had been careful everyday, especially on the anniversary that marked the ultimate lost of control... He sat shakily as Deaton gestured. You'd think accidentally murdering someone would deter you from losing control ever again but here he was. Sure, he hadn't willed Derek into killing himself, but he'd alerted him to his greatest secret and now...his life was over.

_" You're not an O1, are you?" he'd asked._

_No, Stiles had thought miserably, I'm a monster._

"Mr. Stilinski, there seems to have been a situation with your Professor. Would you care to fill me in?"

Stiles knew this tactic and it took a lot of will power not to sneer at the older man before him; Deaton wanted to see if Stiles would lie or divulge extra information. Likely Derek had already alerted him to what had happened, when he had headed into the dean's office with a sharp "Wait here!" thrown behind him. It felt like forever, waiting to be called in though it was probably minutes. Derek had kept close the whole way here, steering him away from other people as they left the hallway; he seemed reluctant to leave him, probably scared Stiles'd go crazy and hurt someone so minutes seemed as long as the distrustful professor would allow.

He was even here now, even after passing responsibility off to Deaton. Derek was standing rigidly beside said man as if he and Deaton may need to restraint him. Which was fair enough. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to go quietly when they came in to cuff him. He'd probably panic when they put the Helmet on him- Stiles slowly deflated with these thoughts, and he finally noticed the hard gaze directed towards him. He'd been quiet too long and Deaton, an A1, wanted answers.

"How long have you been...hiding your gifts?"

Stiles stares blankly.

" I assume your father doesn't-"

" Are you going to quarantine me?" Stiles asks, voice hoarse; his hands twist in his lap, one of the many outward signs of his discomfort. He figures they should just cut to the chase; if they're going to send him off, which he knows they are, it doesn't really matter what he says right now. The Bureau will get the answers out of him later.

Deaton's brow furrows, like he hadn't even thought of it which is bullshit. In this case, Derek is his tell because the professor is eyeing Deaton from the corner of his eye as if to also ask if that's what's in store for his student. It reignites Stiles' anger briefly because really, what did Derek think was going to happen? Did he think a monster like Stiles would be treated with kid gloves?

"You already called the Bureau, didn't you?"

"Mr. Stilinski, I assure you that we-"

Stiles stands up abruptly when the sound of a car door shutting outside startles him. For the fist time he allows himself to feel afraid. Derek moves fast but luckily he ducks away, moving to the door just as it swings open to reveal...his father.

The former sheriff is pale and just as messily put together as Stiles remembers from summer break, though it's been two months since school started up again. As much as he argued and wanted to attend a public academy initially, Melissa and his father had been stern, especially when scholarships were offered to them. According to their parents, he and Scott should go to a boarding academy because the experience would be good for them, hence this being their second year at Beacon Hills Tech when really, Stiles was needed at home. Said teen is mildly relieved as his father enters the room, gently pushing Stiles back as he closes the office door behind him. He still remembers rock bottom and if his father still looks the same as this summer, then it means Melissa is doing her best to keep him on the road to sobriety. But what will this do to him? What will having his son carted off in handcuffs, the media having a field day as soon as word spreads of a sixteen year old student being placed in the lobotomizing helmet, and then having to accept that his son will spend the rest of his life at a government facility, do to him? This would ruin everything, Stiles knows as his breathing cuts off and heart rate quickens. He suddenly feels cold and dizzy as Deaton motions for them to sit back down, lips moving but everything is muted. Stiles doesn't know what's being said, attention still on the door because any minute now the feds will be bursting in and- He shoves his Professor's hand away, whirling around. He's like a cornered animal and he thinks his lip curls as he snarls. Derek frowns and Deaton starts to come around his desk. His father remains sitting, eyes sad and Stiles notes the tan stain on the front of his shirt; sound returns but there's no air, his lungs scream. There's no air and there's no escape either.

"Son, I-"

"Mr. Stilinski, I need you to sit-"

There's a loud thud from outside, something slamming against the office door at full speed; a groan of pain follows. Stiles falls to his knees, sucking in breaths of air because they're here, they're here to take him away- But Derek pulls open the door to reveal Scott who's still on the floor from where he'd bounced off the door, thinking he could just barge in. Wincing in pain, the odd jawed teen holds up a flashdrive with a determined look.

"Mr. Tate, Deaton, sir! You can't kick Stiles out! He's behind in his classes because of me! It's my fault, because he keeps helping me out. If anyone needs to be on academic suspension, it's me!"

Professor Tate's face configures in confusion as he lets out a low, "what?". Even Deaton looks blindsided and Stiles can't help it, he starts to laugh which quickly turns to sobs because soon he'll never see his stupid, lovable best friend again. Scott stares around the room due to what he must think are odd reactions, arm lowering until he finally pockets the flashdrive. He reaches for his backpack, digging around until he pulls out a wad of papers, probably Stiles' essay which is just too sad. Deaton clears his throat like he's going to say something but Stiles cuts him off, " Buddy, dude, you...that's not what's going on. J-just go find Isaac and I'll...see you later."

Stiles is lying and Scott knows, which is probably why he doesn't move an inch. Instead, he holds out the papers to Derek, then Deaton; no one moves to take them and it's then that Scott notices Stiles' father sitting solemnly beside Deaton's desk, " Hey, Mr. Stilinski! What are you doing here?"

There's a long pause before the Dean attempts to regain control of the situation, "Scott, were you aware of Stiles'...gifts?"

Stiles is confident that Scott won't say a word; he was sworn to secrecy afterall but apparently, Deaton's easygoing tone had lured him into a false sense of security. The darker skinned teen furrows his brow and continues to look at Stiles' dad, "Oh. The mind tricks? What about them?"

"You know this means he's been lying about being an O1." Derek addresses, stance aggressive suddenly as he looks at the other empath.

Scott's face smooths, going from kind and ridiculous to serious and calm; his stance changes aswell as he looks at Derek, " No, it means he was mis-classified by your program and that you, and other professors, failed to notice his new abilities."

Stiles chokes and Mr. Stilinski looks alarmed; somehow, Deaton finds this an appropriate time to smile as he works to diffuse the situation, " Yes, I believed this is the case, Mr. McCall. It is surely shameful that out institution failed you and Mr. Stilinski both, which is why there is no point in involving the Federal Bureau in this particular case. And what were you saying about your friend's academics?"

Scott smiles widely, coming forward and dropping the essay onto Deaton's desk. He takes the remaining seat beside Mr. Stilinski and then fishes around for the flashdrive in his front left pocket, " Stiles is really smart and he always lets me borrow his stuff. Isaac, our dorm-mate too but we messed up and he didn't get to turn in his essays. But at lunch we got Danny, our 4th year friend, to fix the flashdrive and Stiles' laptop, which is beyond awesome! I can prove it's may fault he didn't turn in his essays so please don't suspend him."

"Thank you, Mr. McCall, " Deaton says carefully, " I'm sure Mr. Tate and I will take this into consideration. And I can assure you, Mr. Stilinski is not being considered for academic suspension. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to talk to the Stilinskis about the...mis-classification-"

"Oh, I won't say anything else, " Scott smiles resolutely and refuses to move an inch; to clarify to the stunned room, he adds, " Sorry for interrupting. Just pretend I'm not here."

And Stiles, not the first time, thanks what ever higher power out there for Scott McCall.


	4. Chapter 4

In the end, they're both out of the room and sitting on the bench in the narrow waiting room. It takes a long time for Stiles to calm down and stop imagining every sound as the footsteps of federal agents or distant murmurs from Deaton's office as orders to take him down. 

Scott keeps a hand wrapped around him, sitting quietly and soothingly beside him. Stiles can feel him doing the weird emotion-grab thing because his panic is fading regardless of the whirling thoughts in his head. He leans in closer to Scott, muttering a reminder to not take too much or he'll get sick. Scott just chuckles and backs off a tad. Seconds after, tears leak from Stiles' eyes and down to dot the collar of his school uniform; Scott huffs but it doesn't sound cruel, " Dude, come on, man. Why are you crying? Everything is going to be okay."

"It's not, " Stiles says evenly in spite of it all and he tries not to get annoyed by the optimism, "They may not report it now b-but they will eventually. I'm dangerous. My powers aren't like yours. I hurt and control people. I think...I don't think I should be around people."

Stiles doesn't have to be an empath to know Scott is alarmed, " Dude, you've managed it for how long? Eight years and one slip up. That's not a big deal. No one's even hurt."

"Life is full of things more stressful than school, " Stiles croaks, " If I freak out and lose it just because of something like this-"

"Don't be stupid. " Scott interrupts, voice as stern as it can be; when Stiles tries to reply, the other teen sucks out as much negative emotion as his body can in one fell swoop. They're both left a little loopy, leaning against each other and Stiles has the awkward thought that if anyone passed by, they probably would think they were going to see the dean because they'd been caught getting high. He snorted bitterly at that and Scott murmured something about weed, somehow on the same page but Stiles was use to the brain-twin moments. He tries to concentrate when Scott begins to speak, his tone slower and reflective of his temporarily sluggish mind, " Dude, I'm kinda proud of myself. I had 45 minutes to plan shit out and come save you."

"How'd ya know I was in trouble?"

Scott laughs, like it's a silly question, " You're always getting into trouble. But, I felt your panic attack while I was off campus with Allison and by the time I got back, you were...subdued? Like, I went to the shortcut hallway you always take and I could feel your emotions still there but, I didn't know what happened or what to do. Then I found a page of your essay on the floor. Kinda put two and two together so I went to check on Danny."

"Danny?"

"Yeah. Isaac took your laptop and stuff to him this morning and paid him in Skittles. And something else, if you know what I mean, " Scott waggles his eyebrows and Stiles snickers nastily, " He'd just finished getting everything off, all the data or whatever, so I rushed over here because dude, like you were suffocating me. You were seriously freaking."

Stiles winces because subconsciously or consciously he had sent out a call of distress to Scott. It was shameful and he could feel acidic emotions boiling up in his guts. He had manipulated Scott into coming to save him, had called out like he had the right-

"Don't be an idiot, " Scott interrupts but doesn't say anything else. The silence is tense for a split second before the odd jawed teen his smiling lazily and swinging his too short legs; the bench vibrates with the movement. Stiles looks down at his sneakers, the ratty converse that matched Scott's own. After a moment he leaned back in his seat, eyes closing; they felt dry and itchy and his head was starting to hurt but he wiggled away from Scott when he tried to touch his bare skin in order to rid him of these things. He was okay now. Honestly, he felt like he'd reached a plateau, either because of Scott or because his brain finally realized there was no use freaking out. He sniffled; he'd finally stopped bawling like a baby atleast so he went about trying to regain his composure because he was suppose to be the strong one in their duo. He was suppose to take care of Scott and make sure nothing happened to him so he felt guilty for being the one who needed saving. But Scott kept nudging him, sensing his guilt and finally Stiles, exasperated, gave up the martyrdom. 

He let out a long sigh and said, " Atleast this means Harris isn't my O advisor anymore."

Scott cackled, just as the door to Deaton's office swung open.

\----

"I didn't know, " Mr. Stilinski begins with a choked tone, " I didn't know he had any problems here. The problems with his school work, t-the powers manifesting... Hell, I didn't even know Scott was an A class-"

Deaton tries to be sympathetic, " Your son isn't what we call a problematic student. His quality of work was always high and he routinely completes his work, though his interpretations of the assignment's instructions are sometimes unique. According to his professors, the main complaint was the lack of participation, which we think may have to do with the mis-classification."

"Your son doesn't sit still, " Derek blurts out, which, okay, he did not expect to see Stiles' father look so upset by this. He can suddenly taste whiskey on his tongue and the scent of guilt is pungent in his nose, " And he has some issues with authority but I wouldn't say he's a bad kid." Derek feels weird calling someone only a few years younger a kid, and he thinks Deaton and Mr. Stilinski may be thinking something similar; he decides to ignore this and focus on the serious situation at hand.

Stiles' father tries to smile, rubbing at his face tiredly, "He never could make it through a movie. Always had to stop halfway or he'd just about dislocate his knee shaking his leg..."

" Mr. Stilinski-"

"Please, call me John."

Deaton hums with interest, " Hm, we have a different name on file. Miez-"

John winces, " My son and I have that in common: monsters of names. Polish heritage and all."

Derek leans over to look at the foreign name, " I don't even know where to begin with Stiles' name. Atleast yours has vowels."

This earns him some chuckles and the room suddenly is less...red. The haze that had settled over the room dissipates and Derek relaxes; this is just another manifestation of his empathetic abilities so he's the only one aware of the haze but he knows Deaton has relaxed as well because his hands are no longer clasped tight. Maybe things aren't so bad after all; now there is a chance this really was a mis-classification on their part. Even better, there's hope that this was a recent development. But then he flashes back to what Stiles said in the hall about being able to control it, usually. How long had the boy been keeping it a secret? He suspected Scott had known all the while, had been keeping tabs on his friend, if his sudden and premeditated entrance was any type of clue. He suddenly scowled because Scott...as much as he praised McCall's abilities, he couldn't help but butt heads with the other empath who was younger and less experienced, but levels above him. He didn't resent the teen but now with this new development with Stiles...

"-should stay here?"

"Yes, " Deaton's heart is steady, " Absolutely. We can train your son and after retesting, pair him with a competent professor. Like McCall, who I have been mentoring since his manifestation as an A class empath, Stiles will be guided and of course monitored. He'll learn to control his abilities and hopefully continue down the career path he has chosen here at Beacon Hills Tech."

John nods slowly as he sits back in his cushiony chair, " I don't think he's chosen a career track yet but I think it would be good for him to stay too. If nothing else, he'll be with Scott."

"Indeed, " Deaton smiles secretively, " They have quite a bond. It was interesting to have Mr. McCall vouch for him and so sternly. He's usually timid, for lack of a better word."

"My son's been a bad influence, " the smile drops from the former sheriff's face, " But Stiles...he used his powers on a teacher? If I'm understanding what you said on the phone, he actually manipulated a teacher?"

Derek shifts uneasily, " It's not exactly as straightforward as that." He blinks when Deaton doesn't cut in and instead the Dean makes a gesture for Derek to continue; he flounders on the spot before he finally gets his thoughts together, " It's little things, I think. I can't prove it but I think...Stiles may dissuade people from noticing him. Like if a teacher looks like they may call on him, he uses his powers to keep them from doing so. What happened today was...I ran into him and confronted him about his essay. I was alittle too stern with him and he reacted by trying to get me to forget about him."

John frowns worriedly, " Forget about him?"

"It's hard to explain. Stiles wasn't in full control. He said he wanted me to forget he asked for an extension on the midterm essay, and then said, rhetorically I think, that he wanted me to forget he existed and it...started to work. He also stopped me when I tried to leave but it's not...it's like he took the intent to leave but not the ability. When I realized I was being influenced, it was easy to block but...that's still a very dangerous power."

John looks like he wants to say something but doesn't, just bites his lip before he turns to Deaton imploringly, " But you'll help him. And you're not going to contact the Bureau?"

" No, no. We are not going to get them involved."

"Why?"

Derek is startled by the pessimistic question, though it seems reasonable to ask. Comparatively, Deaton looks blank, per usual. After a heavy pause, with Mr. Stilinski turning his gaze away and Derek crossing his arms across his chest impatiently, Deaton responds vaguely with sincerity in his tone, " Let's just say I expect great things from these boys. And I don't think BMP Director Argent would view things as innocently as they are."


	5. Chapter 5

"Now Stiles, I want you to use your abilities on me. Try and manipulate me."

Stiles stares.

The specialist purses his lips, looking down at his notes with false patience. Stiles wants to try and get him to do something, maybe do a jig or say something embarrassing but he can't. He can't bring himself to speak because as much as he hates the condescension, he doesn't want to vomit all over the guy.

He tries to imagine Scott watching behind the two way glass but even that doesn't get him to buck up. He'd been given the run through, since Scott had experienced all this less than a year ago but Stiles still wasn't prepared. He was scared.

" Did you try it?"

" No..." The teen croaks, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck.

The specialist frowns, " This isn't a complicated request. Just...do something. Use your ability on me, make me-"

A knock interrupts them and for a slit second Stiles is beyond relieved before a dark haired lady enters the room. He looks back down, watching his leg bob with a mind of its own; this must be another specialist.

" I'll take over from here. "

" Ms. Gonzalez-"

She ignores his attempts at arguing, coming over and covertly nudging at the other adult; she loses some professionalism when he refuses to vacate the seat and, undeterred, she turns to Stiles to talk over her colleague with an unaffected smile. She must think he's as big of an idiot as Stiles first thought which is...comforting, " Well, I'd like to begin by saying I'm not going to make you perform like some circus seal. "

Stiles looks up.

" I'm going to assume you want to get out of here as quickly as possible too and that works for me, as long as we accurately categorize your abilities so we can match you with classes and career recommendations with an advisor. "

  
Stiles tries not to feel hopeful after her little speech, assuming she's just saying what he wants to hear but then, she's again gesturing for the other specialist to leave...with all his notes. The man finally complies with a heinous look, prompted only by Deaton who appears in the doorway of the room. When the door shuts behind him, she finally sits with her hands clasped on the table. It makes her seem non-threatening and whether he likes it or not, Stiles relaxes just a bit.

" How did you like your former advisor, Dr. Adrian Harris?"

" I didn't. "

He doesn't break eye contact as he tests the waters with a little defiance. If she thinks that after her shit partner that he's going to open up to her just because she seems cooler, then she's wrong. But she just nods, as if its a reasonable answer.

" Because he was too hands on? Not involved enough, you think?"

" Because he's an ass, " This time he looks away, heart pounding as she silently considers him; he wonders if this is where the bad cop routine returns but instead, she let's out a scoff and settles back in her chair.

"Well, I've never met this Harris guy, so that may be true. But who do you think would be not such an ass? Your friend, Scott, has the Dean due to his extraordinary abilities. Based on your new classification, I can only think of a couple other options including Professor Morrell who I used to work with, Professor Tate who was-"

Stiles shakes his head; he hates Professor Morrell almost as much as Harris because of her condescending, self-righteous attitude. He made sure to switch out of all her classes each semester, even if it meant 7am or late night alternative electives, and no counseling appointments ever. He wanted to suggest Professor Martin as she was pretty laid back and sweet but then her daughter, Lydia, would find out, and he also wasn't sure a B3 could handle his abilities. There was also Professor Geranimo, though she was soon due to take a sabbatical with her wife... No, he needed someone with the time to help him, and someone at least in the A classification which was not a lot of their faculty. Ms Gonzalez had a point as this left him four options; Professor Tate, Deaton, Professor Johnson, or worse...the other Professor Tate. He shivered unconsciously because yes, Peter was powerful enough to help him and contain him if need be but...no, he did not want to have to be alone with that creep. He reconsiders his list of three and as amazing as Braeden is, he's not sure if he should suggest her as their powers are not the least bit similar. She could probably still train him in control, and in hand to hand combat so he's even less likely to need his powers but...so he has two choices, really which easily becomes one, In the end, he's not exactly a fan of Derek.

"Deaton."

This works out, he thinks. He and Scott can work together 

"Wonderful, but who else?" Specialist Gonzalez chirps, looking at him as if she's not only pleased but surprised by his cooperation. He wants to frown at that because he's not belligerent, though maybe that's how they saw it when he was with the other specialist. He grimaces; cooperating with that bastard had been a lost cause.

"I don't have an alternative," he starts to say before reconsidering, leg bouncing as he thinks about finishing up here and getting back to his father and Scott, " I mean, I guess Professor Tate, the younger one would be okay but I think...given the risk factors of my abilities, Deaton is safest."

There. He's made his case and he's nervous again, wondering what it will be like with Deaton since Scott never described him as a strict or lenient teacher. Nibbling on his thumb, he jumps up as soon as the woman moves to stand, earning him a smile.

"Alright, it's settled. I'll assume you're in the same career track as Scott?"

Stiles blinks; Scott hadn't chosen a track yet so he didn't understand. Suddenly, he turned to look at the closed door, feeling second-hand guilt being sent his way. So everyone outside could hear what they were talking about. He saved that thought for later because Scott's guilt could only mean one thing. He'd chosen his career track and okay, that wasn't really a big deal, though to Stiles it kinda felt like maybe Scott didn't trust him if he couldn't share only the biggest decision of his life. He tried to figure it out; which career track would Scott have chosen, and which one did the other teen think would upset Stiles? Ah. Law enforcement and Humanitarian Relief. He scoffed at his dork of a friend, though it was somewhat forced before Scott severed the emotional link, apparently satisfied that his friend wasn't really upset and that this was something they would discuss later.

" I guess. My...dad went down that track, but at the Academy. " He swallows hard and doesn't add that his mother also took that track at the Academy, " Tate's class had me considering Intelligence and Surveillance but I'm still kinda undecided."

Gonzalez nods but looks thoughtful; then she's gesturing to the door and he's beyond relieved. He pulls it open, not even looking back at the specialist as he looks for his family. He doesn't look long before a hand is patting his back and Scott is pulling him into a brotastic hug.

"Sorry man, was gonna tell you. I'm not even sure that's what I'm going to really do."

Stiles rolls his eyes, " Dude, it's fine. I think it suits you. Hell, it'll be good for both of us."

Deaton approaches from his left, Gonzalez at his side and of course, guard-dog Tate right behind. Luckily, the other specialist is long gone. 

"Mr. Stilinski, I think we've just about resolved this situation. I hope you will come to me if you have any problems with your adviser, or if you feel uncomfortable with your career track. You do have some time before you have to declare it, and I'm sure your adviser can help you research your options."

Stiles blinked because it was kinda weird having your dean speak in some form of third person, but then Professor Tate was stepping forward with a scowl and a small stack of documents. Scott keeps a reassuring arm around him, his dad a comforting presence behind him as he's addressed by the older empath and quite sternly.

"We can work out a meeting schedule after your new class schedule is worked out. And we can talk about the Intelligence and Surveillance track on the way to the registrar's office."

"Um, isn't Deaton my-"

Gonzalez interrupts, grin wide but something devious is glinting in her eyes, " Deaton is a wonderful alternative for you if things don't work out with Mr. Tate." 


	6. Chapter 6

Derek is exhausted.

And of all the things he hates most, it's smugness and it just so happens that Ms. Gonzalez reeked of it. (And Deaton hadn't exactly smelled upset either...) The second Stiles mentioned him, mentioned the Intelligence and Surveillance track, he knew he was screwed. He'd been so hopeful that this would become Deaton's problem, especially with Derek's track record of handing his students off to other professors when they reached second year status. He wasn't the mentoring type, or the coddling type, afterall, and Stilinski was the kind of student that you couldn't let out of your sight. But it was futile; he couldn't argue with them, though he hoped they got that he wasn't exactly happy, given how hard he'd slammed the door to the registrar's office. But, he was already becoming resigned to his fate. It was understandable that they would choose him. He was the only professor at the school who had gone into that track, who had worked for the Bureau before he’d...No, he's not gonna think about that. Today's bad enough as it is.

In an effort to clear his head, he picks up the pace, trying to ignore the handful of students milling around as he heads to his office. Luckily, none try to talk to them, too busy laughing and bemoaning the exams the had or were scheduled to take. His mind remains purposefully blank the whole way.

Still, he's shaking by the time he gets to his office. He doesn't want a bratty second year stirring up trouble for him; he changed to teaching for this very reason, to get off their radar and now he was right back in sight because of one mishap with a temperamental, spastic teenager. Sure, Stiles hadn't chosen his abilities and he didn't seem to be and terrorist in the making but...his abilities stirred up memories and feelings in Derek that he didn't think he could relive. He didn't think he could handle an A-class manipulator again, when he'd nearly lost his life the first time.

" He reminds me of you," Deaton had commented vaguely when the Stilinskis and McCall were out of ear shot, “You were so afraid to intrude upon others but always willing to shoulder the burdens of the world.” Derek just grunted at the older mutant. True, he'd had a hard time with his powers when he was Stiles' age; after all, being able to hear, taste, smell, and see people's feelings wasn't something you could easily ignore because of the nearly constant input. However, while his ability was not something he considered a blessing, which he was sure Stiles could relate to, an empath and a manipulator were inherently different. One was a receiver, and the other was a giver (Unless you were Scott McCall and just about the greatest empath alive...). He didn't know if he could teach Stiles, even if he managed to push down all the old fears and insecurities popping up. He didn’t know if this commonality mattered. He just didn’t know.

Signing, he unlocks his office door, shutting the door behind him. He takes several moments to bask in the buzzing silence, before he moves to dump all the paperwork on his desk. As he signed his life away, taking responsibility for one Stiles Stilinski, he began to build walls in his mind. By the time he’d gotten to the last paper, straightening them with a loud shuffle, he was certain that not even She could enter his mind.

\---

" Everything working?"

Stiles and Scott both jump about a foot, causing Danny to cackle from their open doorway. Exchanging looks, they finally understand the other teen is referring to the flashdrive and laptop; Scott quickly sputters, " Um, yeah, completely! Thanks for doing all that on such short notice."

Danny winks, " No worries. I originally told Isaac I didn't have time with midterms but...something just changed my mind. I guess I like a challenge and trying to recover a hard drive doused in orange Fanta was definitely a sticky situation."

Scott laughs but Stiles frowns; so that curly haired bastard that he shared custody of Scott with had blamed him for the spill. And okay, fine, if he hadn't been gesturing so vigorously at Scott about Star Wars, maybe he couldn't have knocked over Isaac’s glass of soda but who drinks out of a glass these days? Was Isaac too good to chug a 2 liter or use a cup with a lid? Whatever, he wondered how Isaac got Danny to change his mind. He's pulled from his reverie when Danny sends them both a dazzling smile and takes a step back.

"Well, I'm glad you got your essay back. Remind Isaac we're going off campus for lunch today, yeah?"

Scott nods while Stiles mumbles the affirmative, going back to digging in his side of the dresser for socks. He suspected Scott had taken his last clean pair as the other boy was notorious for losing his socks or walking around in them, causing them to tear prematurely. Groaning when he comes up empty handed, he shoves his bare feet into his sneakers and grabs his book bag off his bed; Scott doesn't move an inch from where he'd sprawled on Isaac's unmade bed.

" We're going to be late."

Stiles doesn't move. Neither does Scott.

"Deaton is a stickler for arriving on time."

No movement whatsoever.

" If we arrive late, we're not going to be able to choose our seats...which means I can’t help you if he calls on you."

Scott sighs when Stiles fidgets but doesn’t stand; he knows Stiles’ nervous about attending his new classes when they’ll be on the look out for his...evasions. But he has a feeling that today won’t be bad; nothing lasts forever and it’s about time that things right themselves, after all. So Scott stands just as the tardy bell rings and finally, finally they both start to head to class.

\---

Second period used to be his free time, 45 minutes of organizing for the rest of the day and reflecting on what went wrong (or right) during first period. Sometimes he gets bored having to teach the same two classes all day, but other times he appreciated the routine. And this break in his routine is...unnerving. Scott enters the classroom, letting in the sounds of the bustling hallway as he nudges Stiles into the room, “ Morning, Professor!”

Derek grunts.

Scott smile doesn’t lose its blinding brightness, “ Well, I gotta meet Professor Deaton. You guys go easy on each other. You have your books, your pencils and your phone if you need me. I’ll be back  at 9:45 to get you, okay?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, though his body language screams “terrified toddler being dropped off at preschool”, “ Dude, no. Just no.”

Waving, Scott exits the room, leaving Stiles to stand awkwardly by the door as Derek remains seated at his desk. Taking off his glasses with a sigh, Derek rubs the bridge of his nose as he decides exactly how to proceed; he has a lesson plan ready, an assessment but he kinda just wants to call Scott back in to pick up his menace of a friend so Derek can hide in his office for the next hour. But he can’t. He knows he can’t. He has a responsibility so he stands suddenly, Stiles jumping back in alarm. Mental shields raised, he nauseously stands with his shoulders squared and spine straight. His eyes dart to the nearest desk in the front row and eventually Stiles gets the hint and flails to sit.

“Anchors. I’m assuming you had one.”

“Have one, “ Stiles mutters, “ I have an anchor already. I just-”

“It’s not a very good one if you are having episodes of no control.” Derek pauses, “ And that’s assuming you intentionally were manipulating me and your other teachers.”

Stiles pales and Derek imagines what emotions would be coming off him as he’s blocked everything in order to ensure he gets through his lecture; he’s pretty sure this confirms that it was an unconscious act,“...I, um.”

“You don’t want to be called on. You don't want to have to talk in class. But your teachers, which are only the Dean and myself at this point, are aware of this now and will not be letting you get away with this. And whatever your anchor was, it’s not strong enough.” Derek swallowed hard, because he remembers how hard it had been, how long it had taken him to find a new anchor that didn’t eventually deteriorate because something would go wrong or remind him of Her, “ Usually, mutants go through many different anchors, combinations even, as they get older and their powers change. ”

Stiles is shaking now and maybe Derek starts to feel bad, “ We’re going to help you build up your control. And in doing so, we’re going to figure out your triggers.”

It’s unnerving that Stiles doesn’t speak or try to interrupt long after Derek’s done talking so he moves behind his desk and retrieves the restraints he’s reluctant to use but...he sets them carefully on the desk in front of Stiles. In a moment of weakness, he actually feels sympathetic to share a detail with Stiles he didn’t plan on. Clearing his throat, he looks up at the vaulted ceiling, “ One wrist cuff is enough to subdue anyone in the B class. I...at one point, I lost control enough that I wore cuffs on both wrists and while I have ankle cuffs, no one has ever needed all four. They’re considered inhumane and rarely, if ever, are used by the government these days.

“They prefer the helmet.”

Derek blinks at that, looking down and feeling a spark go through him when Stiles meets his eyes. He nods and holds back a shudder just thinking about the helmet; it’s not exactly humane either but atleast it’s legal.

“Yeah.” He moves the cuffs out of Stiles's reach when he reaches for them, “ I will only use these if your control disappears completely but at this point, I think you just need to work on a different anchor. I don’t think you’re a threat.” Derek surprises himself by saying the last part but he guesses he means it. Clearing his throat, he gestures for Stiles to stand and hardens his expression as a sinking feeling settles in his gut. He can't think of any other way then to face things head on so he orders,

“ Now, what are you afraid of?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! :D Also, new prologue is up!


	7. Chapter 7

“Thank you so much, ma’am. I would have been screwed for next period without it-”

The janitor smiles, dazed, “ No problem, sweetie. Go in real quick and get your project. I’ll keep the door shut.”

Stiles smiles and feels bad, he really does but...he needs this. He doesn’t have any other choice and while he is using his powers in order to stop using his powers...it’s not as crazy as it sounds. Seriously, he tells the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Scott; this is a good idea. I can have good ideas and this is one of them. He hears a very Scott like scoff as he pulls open the bottom drawer, then the middle and top drawer of Derek’s desk. His hands are shaking because he’s not even sure if they’re here, or when Derek will be back; he refused to use his powers to the same degree as last time and will the whole school from going near this part of the building (that would not only certainly raise suspicious but it would definitely turn this good idea into an insanely bad one). So he settled for coaxing a janitor into helping him and then rummaging around in his adviser's office until he-

“Ah-ha!”

He slams the drawer shut, hunching around the box. It’s heavy but it still makes him grin because this is what he needs, not some psychotherapy bull and Derek yelling at him for an hour a day. Really, how was talking about his greatest fears going to help? It wouldn't but this? This would. He thanks the janitor, Estelle, and heads to his dorm instead of the cafeteria. He keeps the box hidden in his sweater, only pulling the wrist and ankle cuffs out of the box when he’s safely in his bunk. Smiling widely, though he can’t help but tremble when he feels the energy pull each time the metal touches his skin, he puts all four on.

It burns and then...nothing.

He wakes up, head aching and mouth feeling dry as a bone. Well. So maybe putting on all four wasn't his greatest idea...Then, is stomach rebels and yup, he just threw up near Isaac's bunk. This was a very bad idea, he thinks, eyes squeezed shut as he tried desperately to remove one of the ankle cuffs. His arms feel so heavy, muscles stinging as he tries to get his limbs to cooperate and finally, finally it's just the wrist cuffs. He pants, triumphant but he has a bed to strip and a shirt to change out of, and jeez, what time is it again? Lunch has to be over by now...He gapes at his phone because it's sixth period. He's missed lunch and fifth and if he doesn't get things together in fifteen minutes, seventh period will start. He curses, standing up but falling back down just as quick. He grits his teeth, fighting the draining feeling; he can adapt to this. He has to. Does he want to manipulate people left and right? No. Does he want to be a threat to everyone around him? No, so this is the only solution because if he can unconsciously manipulate, what good is a conscious anchor?

"What are you afraid of?" Derek had asked, to which he'd mostly sputtered, " What triggers you? You don't like talking in class, for one."

Stiles had rubbed at his eyes nervously, leg bouncing, " Teachers prefer calling on students who don't raise their hands only, that's our way of saying we don't know. So yeah, I prefer not talking, when I don't know the answer."

"You would know the answer if you studied."

Rolling his eyes, he didn't even grace that with a retort because really? He did study but he just wasn't, well, good at it. It took him a lot of time to get into the swing of it, everything seeming to be a distraction when you have concentration problems. Not to mention, his interpretations of stuff were odd and sometimes the words would get twisted somewhere between his brain and his mouth. Show your work in math, they'd say; Stiles honestly forgot how he got to the right answer. Write a coherent essay on The Winter Of Our Discontent? Penises; the essay would end with a discussion on penises. He wouldn't say he was stupid (they had classified him as a low level genius, enough to be placed amongst the O1s) but when he spoke up, he couldn't help the cold anxiety that made the laughter or huffs of his classmates painful. He always wanted to disappear then, when eyes fell on him because no one should have to look at a monster. But he didn't tell Derek this, just let the empath make his own conclusions.

"You're afraid of messing up, then."

Stiles thinks this is as close to the truth as he'll let himself get; I'm afraid of messing up, he thinks as he touches the cuffs carefully. He can see the name HALE, D sewn near the metal hinge and he's shocked and yet...it all fits together. So Professor Tate was the Derek Hale, the one who...he gulped, more than certain that these would help as authentic, federally issued cuffs. So he stands more carefully, tugging at the soiled blanket and then pulling out a fresh, long sleeved shirt. He can do this, he thinks and as he makes his way out of the dorm. After hiding the ankle cuffs, he breathes a little easier but time seems to pass naturally as the walls blur and warp before his very eyes. 

\---

"Ah, Mr. Stilinski. You're an hour late. Did you think it was Day Light Savings?"

Laughter and snorts cause him to blush from where he stands in the doorway, shaky from the short journey from the dorms. He can see Isaac in the third row hiding a smile (he has Tate seventh period, not sixth with Stiles) and finally, Stiles mumbles that he lost track of time before he turns to go. The door shuts behind him and after several failed attempts, he manages to get his phone out of his pocket; 2:19. Had it really taken him 40 minutes to get to his last class of the day, when before he recalled 10 minutes being his average? Leaning against the wall outside, he manages to walk away after several minutes of just deep breaths. He hadn't thought it would be this hard but it was honestly like his bones were turning to stone. He thought about heading back to the dorms but he needed to be alone for awhile, needed to get a handle on this first. So where could he go, that no one would find him?

His feet were already leading him to East Campus before his mind caught up.

\---

Stiles had thought East Campus would be abandoned, since it wasn't like there was anything out there but a few abandoned courts, but if he thought about it, it was the perfect place for mutants to train without be watched. Ducking behind a shrub so quickly he gave himself vertigo, Stiles listened to Lydia bark orders at Jackson before the sound of clangs and thuds started again.

On the outside, Lydia Martin was the most beautiful girl Stiles had ever seen. Not only that, but her mind worked like a super computer and to be honest, there was little doubt that she could have skipped k-12 education and gone straight to work as an intelligence officer, like her father and grandmother before her. And yet, she stuck around and perhaps it was for the experience...or perhaps it was because of one Jackson Whittmore. Because again, here was another very beautiful person on the outside but the brains part? No, one one would ever say Jackson was smart. He was rich, he was rude and he had quite a temper but smart? Ha! This just made it all the more surprising that Lydia, a legacy B1 clung to a B3 who came from Unaffected, adoptive parents, even if she was just as rich and just as rude, and while not violent, just as brutal with her words.

Lydia, who was training under Professor Braeden Johnson, was putting her hand to hand to use against Jackson who was constantly shifting into a new form. His fur would ripple, going from a sleek white of a wolf to the dark grey and green scales of a lizard to the red and yellows of a large, taloned bird. It was impressive, and Stiles had never gotten much of a glimpse of their abilities even if Allison and Lydia were the best of friends. He wondered, a sinking feeling in his gut, if Isaac and Scott had seen the two of them practice before, or if the five of them (six if Danny, Jackson's best friend, left his technology filled dorm room) ever practiced together. Stiles knew they hung out with out him and that it was reasonable that they would practice without him, since he was an O class while the rest of them were A and B.

Only, you're not an O class, a snide voice whispered in the back of his mind but Stiles pushed it aside.

He stood up, swaying as a cold sweat broke out across his skin. Jealousy rose within him because it would have been better if his power had been something benign, if he really had been a useless O1 tagging along behind A1 Scott McCall; maybe then he wouldn't be so alone, maybe his mother would have- He stumbled over the sandy soil and small shrubs as he started to head back to the main campus; he still didn't really have a handle on the draining feeling but he was getting used to it. As long as he was a bit more cautious with his movements, then he figured he would be alright for a while. Yet, he still didn't head for the dorms; he figured the library, in the back section near biographies and literary critiques, would be the best place for him. Luckily, he had already met with his grumpy adviser today and Scott was used to him wandering off. No one would look for him and really, there wasn't anyone else who'd inquire after him anyway. As if to prove this, he smiled weakly as Allison and Kira passed him by without a glance on their way to Jackson and Lydia, he assumed. It was somewhat relieving because if he could still pass unnoticed without his powers, so maybe he really hadn't been using them that much. Cheered up and depressed by this train of thought, he shoved paused to catch his break out some picnic benches and ended up staying there instead of the library. Dozing in the sunlight, he tried to position his hands in a way that they didn't aggravate the cuffs that weighed him down. Eventually, when the sun had diminished and the cold had settled in, he forced himself.

The library felt miles away but he wasn't read to see Scott or Isaac so the dorm was out of the question. Luckily most students were getting dinner in the dining hall or off campus so as he pushedat the library door, frowning when it seemed heavier than usual, he was relieved to find few students inside. Wincing when his wrists began to ache even more, he began rubbing at the appendages, careful to avoid unnecessary attention as he headed to the back corner and closed his eyes.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

Stiles met Scott when they were six years old, before their powers revealed themselves and before Stiles' mom got sick and Scott's dad left. If those memories weren't so fuzzy and so far back, he would say those were the best days of his life but it wasn't like there were a lot of peaceful times to compete with. Back then, they giggled and wrestled in the sandbox, and had sleepovers where they built pillow forts and stayed up eating absolute crap. Then, they played videos games until they couldn't keep their eyes open anymore. They were privileged in that regard because having Gameboys to entertain them and Playstations and X-box as they grew older...it was a key aspect of their friendship, cursing the other out as they fiddled with various controllers like their lives depended on it. But messing up and losing that last life, or playing through and finding you missed that one jewel that would have given you a bonus...it had never felt bad, had never made him so anxious that breathing regularly required determination.

With the cuffs on, he felt like time was passing rapidly between painful, tired blinks and before he knew it, the day was at an end and he was facing a YOU LOSE screen. Scott had asked him if he could please, pretty please do their laundry since he was going sparring with the others. Did Stiles remember? No, instead he'd gone to the library to nap and woken only when his best friend texted him late in the evening, after his sparring session and after he realized he had no clean clothes. When Professor Deaton had asked him to turn in his textbooks from classes he was no longer in during second period, did he bring them to the library as instructed? No, he left them stacked beside his bed as he tried to get dressed in a daze. And worse, he had forgotten his new schedule and instead of heading back to Tate's class for third period, he'd walked right into Dr. Harris' lecture. It had taken him several minutes of squinting at the unfamiliar teen sitting in his usual seat for him to realized he was being sneered at by his former adviser and then, several seconds before he retreated from the classroom, laughter following him out.

Everything was just going over his head, and no matter how hard he tried to keep up, he just couldn't.

"A-and then, " Scott was wheezing now, having cackled so hard a moment before, " And Isaac, he l-lifts the towel up l-like-"

Isaac is beet red, "Dude-"

"L-like he thinks Danny is j-just under them or something! Oh my gawd, Stiles, it was hilarious!"

Stiles tried to smile but Scott's level of amusement had made him dizzy. Yeah, he was certain walking in on Danny getting dressed (Isaac had a nasty habit of not knocking) was embarrassing and hilarious even if it involved scaring the technology obsessed one of their group enough that his power activated and he phased through the floor. Finally, when Isaac had stopped hiding his face in his hands and Scott had calmed a bit, the empath grinned and explained to Stiles, " Mason thanked me. Even though I did hear the sprinklers go off in their room so Liam was either upset or really happy..."

Isaac shoved at Scott, scowling before he turned back to their shared laptop and the essay he had up about the history of abilities like his. Honestly, from what Stiles would see from here, it looked like Isaac had just copy-pasted everything from the Wikipedia page on physical mutations, " It's not funny. Danny won't return my texts..."

"Maybe he's downstairs..."

Stiles only then offers a weak smile when Scott takes a pillow to the face, well aware that laughing would make his bones ache.

\---

Malia, a smirk on her face, is caged between Kira's arms as the smaller girl straddles her waist. They struggle a bit, Malia fighting the grip her opponent has on her wrists, wiggling half-heartedly as her lower half is pressed to the concrete of the court. 

"No foreplay on the court!" Allison calls from the stands, rolling her eyes when Malia flips her off with a gloved hand; then, swift as lighting, their positions are reversed and when Malia's bare hand caresses Kira's face in mock-affection... Scott mumbles that Kira always gets distracted and that training with your best friend isn't wise; Stiles grunts noncommittally from behind his textbook while Allison just wags her brows suggestively. And yet, suddenly, Malia is being thrown back several feet with a flash of light. The three of them in the stands exchange worried looks but then Malia, the energy thief as she has dubbed herself, starts to giggle. Kira sits up instantly, giggling as well as she crawls over; tucking her hair behind her ear.

"That was like a power surge!"

"I know!" Kira babbled, " I mean, the idea came to me yesterday. Since you take power and I give it, I thought I'd give you more than you bargained for and, well. But you're okay, right? I didn't hurt you? Oh no, I should have thought about this a bit more!"

Malia smiles as she sits up, combing at her static-puffed hair before grabbing a worried Kira by the hands; the two of them don't seem to care at all about the audience they have in the stands, " I'm fine. A little...fluffy, kinda jittery but wow! That was genius!"

"Alright guys, " Allison calls again as she adjusts the strap to her quiver and straightens her arm covers, " Scott and I are next."

Blushing a deep red, Kira stands and pulls Malia up with her, approaching them with grins. Scott, dressed in work out gear versus the leather armor that Allison has donned, stands only when the two have taken a seat on the lower half of the stands. The empath stretches a bit, a goofy smile on his face that Allison returns; he guesses shes not so stoic nowadays thanks to Scott's puppy-like optimism. Stiles, tired eyes falling closed, is expecting his friend to start some silly banter with the huntress as they often do before they actually get to sparring but is startled when a hand instead presses against his forehead.

"You're still a little warm, " Scott says gently, pulling back as Stiles raises a judgmental brow, " Put on my coat and I promise, our sparring will be done in a few minutes. Then we'll head back to the dorms."

"A few minutes?" Allison asks with a dangerous grin, causing Scott to give her a quick shove before he turns back to Stiles. He had dragged the newly classified teen out to the courts when Stiles had tiredly mentioned heading to the library, finding that something was niggling in the back of his mind. Stiles' emotions had felt...muted for the last three days and while perhaps it would have been better if Scott had strong-armed Stiles to their dorm and had him rest, he felt an odd need to keep his best friend close. And it was just Sunday practice, right? So he'd invited him to come with him and the group though he knew Stiles had no interest in sparring, mostly for his own peace of mind. And it's becoming all the more clear, he thinks as he takes in Stiles' sickly appearance, that Stiles wasn't better off alone in their dorm.

"A few minutes. Ten tops, okay?"

Stiles offers him a small smile and turns back to his books. Turning his attention to his opponent, Scott closes his eyes to center himself, letting his sense reach out and analyze; he can tell that there is weakness in Allison's left ankle from the sparring match she had with Lydia earlier this week. He can also tell by the cloudiness around Allison's head that she's tired from finals still but otherwise...excitement, health, determination. He opens his eyes, watching as she takes one step back, three steps to the left and then she darts forward. He grips her by the forearms and lets himself fall back, throwing her but he can hear her land on her feet. She flips, pivots and he dodges the blade being swung his way. He jumps left, right, left again and she catches him across the thigh. They keep going, spinning around each other and while they don't hold back, they are still careful that their blows are ones to teach, not to injure. In the end, he's pinned to the concrete, his left arm twisted and a boot digging into his tailbone.

"No foreplay on the court!" Malia cries, then snickers when Kira gives her a playful shove.

They ignore them with two eyerolls. The spar over with another win for the B1 of their pairing, Allison helps him up, dusting him off and kissing him on the forehead; he smiles lovingly at her when she asks, " Wanna go out for dinner? I'd kill for a black bean burger and a strawberry shake."

"Um, sure. Let me check with-"

Scott pauses as he wipes the sweat from the back of his neck, his good humor is suddenly dimming a bit; Stiles is nowhere in sight and his coat is still sitting on the stands beside their backpacks.

"He said he was cold, " Kira explains from Malia's side; she finally focuses on Scott when she realizes he's looking at her scoldingly, " Sorry, e left a while ago."

Disappointed, Scott checks his phone and is relieved to find a text waiting for him. It's unnerving how predictable he is when the message from Stiles reads 'have fun. use protection. bring me back curly fries'. Turning back to Allison, he slips a hand into her back pocket and nods.


	9. Chapter 9

"Really, Stilinski? You're late twice in one day?" Derek lifted a judgmental brow and came to lean over Stiles, who had his carefully clothed arms folded on the desktop, " And don't think I forgot about Danny coming to your rescue. Did you read the chapter on the foundation of the International Surveillance league? Be honest."

Stiles rubbed at his face, frowning when he found crusted drool at the corner of his mouth. He'd overslept and been late to Tate's first period group training, which of course had prompted the young professor to interrogate him on their homework assignment that he had tried to read. If he had been able to focus on anything other than his aching wrists and the persistent nausea that had suddenly come on, maybe he would have something to show for the three hours he'd spent with his textbook open but as it was...he groaned, hoping he sounded more petulant than pathetic, " I don't know, a little? I never said I was set on that track, you know."

Derek huffed, " Well, in that case, I guess we'll have to go over the chapter together. It'll be like story time, but without apple juice and graham crackers. Now open your book, page 412. Start at the introduction."

"Come on, " the amber eyed teen whined, " That's sixteen pages!"

"Exactly, get started."

Grumbling, Stiles started to read, jumping when Derek instructed him to read aloud. Ignoring the headache behind his eyes, he did as he was told, starting out in an almost indistinguishable mumble until once more he was corrected. A few times his mind wandered, a part of him thinking back to the name he'd discovered on the cuffs but he kept quiet; he didn't want his adviser knowing that he knew, especially since it would lead to him knowing about the stolen cuffs, a fear he carried with him already. Somehow, though he absolutely dreaded reading aloud most of the time, it wasn't too bad. He was able to relax given that it was just the two of them instead of twenty five pairs of eyes and once he stopped muttering, Derek began nodding and humming in approval as he read. And when his voice started to wear out around page six, the other brunet took over without missing a beat.

"-considered an ineffective organization given its lack of diverse leadership and inconclusive goals, " Derek said softly, having donned his glasses so he could continue reading, " However, with the appointment of Henri-Pierre Argent as the European Representative, the League transformed in many ways, and eventually became the organization we see today that oversees the so called Bureaus across the world."

Stiles' eyes fell shut as Derek continued to read, his voice even and clear as he breezed through two, three, six pages until finally he closed their history textbook with a loud snap. Blinking awake, Stiles winced a bit when trying to use his wrists proved painful; distracted, he didn't realize Derek had stood or begun rummaging through the wooden filing cabinet beside his desk until he heard a triumphant hum. Maybe he imagined it for it was gone soon enough but his adviser looked almost sad as he shut the drawer of the cabinet, turning to reveal a small, grey book that he just about cradled in his large, calloused hands. Derek approached slowly and whatever vulnerability Stiles had seen was soon gone.

"Now, read this, " the empath tossed the worn book in front of Stiles when he didn't reach out to take it, " All of it."

Stiles sputtered, rubbing his dark rimmed left eye against his shoulder; Derek didn't think too much on why the younger male was reluctant to use his hands, " There's only eight minutes left before fourth period starts!"

"Yeah, and you have fourth period with me anyway, " Derek rolled his eyes as he sat back down at his desk, looking over his lesson plan which was mostly composed of paired work that would test their knowledge of laws restricting public use of powers with true or false prompts. It wasn't that he thought Stiles wasn't capable of it (he likely had extensive knowledge of law enforcement given that was his parent's field), just that he thought that maybe the teen would benefit more from reading the book that inspired Derek to choose to be an Intelligence officer when he was a teen. Feeling a sense of nostalgia wash over him, it was soon replaced with bitterness because he had been so naive them, so optimistic, like he could really make a difference. No, this would be good for Stiles to read and afterwards, after Derek showed him what the Bureau was really like, maybe the teen really would choose a different track.

\--

"-okay with Professor Tate? "

"Yup. Just tired," Stiles mumbles into the receiver, eyes squeezed but it doesn't help; the room was still spinning and it feels like he's missing every other word that comes out of his father's mouth. 

" -make sure. Alright then, I'll let you go, bud."

"I will, love you. Night, " he doesn't bother pulling the phone away from his ear, hearing the click and just needing a minute to...to just lay still. He's thought about removing one of the cuffs, see if he can function with just one but it feels like failure; he can make it one more day, he's told himself every day for the last four. After all, Derek said he'd been fine with two. Stiles could do this and eventually his body would stop fighting it and maybe his abilities would just...disappear. It wasn't likely; it was honestly unheard off but sometimes strain could cause one's powers to go dormant and what Stiles wouldn't give for that to happen. Sure, he'd felt almost...intrigued when he read the anonymous diary that Derek had given him to read but...he sighed, turning just slightly when he's addressed. He didn't want to think abo

"Probably finals. Allot of people get sick afterwards. " Isaac says, then curses at his essay; it takes him a moment to continue his distracted conversation with Stiles and even then, his eyes never leave the computer screen, " I read stress lowers your immune system."

Stiles vision blurs but he can still see the patch of stone on Isaac's neck, the rest hidden by his pajama top; he suspects that the mutant was either really stressed about school or he had had another fight with Danny. He seemed more a combination if it had triggered a partial transformation but he didn't comment; he knew Isaac preferred not to take about things which Stiles could certainly relate to. Making sure his own sleepwear hid the deep bruises spreading from beneath the cuffs, he weakly pulled his comforter over his head in the hopes that the darkness would help his headache.

"Yeah, " he breathes long after Isaac has stopped expecting an answer, " Probably."

\---

"Again."

Stiles groans because it's the third time Derek has made him erect a mental barrier just for the teacher to tear it down. And he can't, he really can't anymore but then he's looking into furious green eyes and he has to choke down a sob as he raises a shaky barrier once more. Couldn't Derek see he's tired, he thought desperately? Couldn't his professor see he was trying so hard? The barrier shatters on its own and instead of bellowing that he wasn't trying hard enough, Derek is silent for a long moment. Then,

"One break and then we're right back into it."

Stiles' head hits the desk with a thud, his arms stretched out on either side of his head as he pants in relief; he misses the concerned look shot his way. With Derek deeming him properly anchored, and with Stiles admitting that the book Derek had given him had made him consider intelligence work...it was strange but Derek had almost seemed disappointed in him afterwards and without pause they had moved from lectures to actual work. Stiles had tried to complain but Professor Tate was relentless and unsympathetic once more.

"Strengthening your mind is key to being an intelligence officer, " Derek begins as Stiles rests, " Even if you don't have ill intents, you can be manipulated by someone who has greater abilities if they successfully pry into your minds. You have to be aware all the time, have to have some kind of barrier up always."

"Even when you're asleep?"

Derek scoffs at the cheeky response; the teen doesn't know how close he is to hitting a nerve, " Even then, yes. With great power comes great responsibility and with a power like yours, you have to not only control your own impulses, but prevent overt and covert attempts to manipulate you. "

"In the big lie there is always a certain force of credibility; because the broad masses of a nation are always more easily corrupted in the deeper strata of their emotional nature than consciously or voluntarily; and thus in the primitive simplicity of their minds they more readily fall victims to the big lie than the small lie, since they themselves often tell small lies in little matters but would be ashamed to resort to large-scale falsehoods. " Stiles quoted, retrieving and flipping open the book his teacher had given him. He winced at the motion but he can consumed the words written rather easily. This Argent guy, while kinda wordy and difficult to understand, had some interesting points. Stiles had had to make some leaps in understanding but considering what history proved, the League was dissolved because corrupt mutants were using the organization for its game. Following individual bureaus emerged and from there, Stiles felt a sense of justice. People were naive. People were likely to believe in the goodness in all people but Stiles wasn't an optimist; he knew bad things existed and he was one of them. People like him, with his kind of powers should be locked away where they could do no harm or in his case...given cuffs.

With the book in front of him, he read to Derek who's face had gone carefully blank, " Even though the facts which prove this to be so may be brought clearly to their minds, they will still doubt and waver and will continue to think that there may be some other explanation. For the grossly impudent lie always leaves traces behind it. From time immemorial, however, manipulative power holders have known better than any others how falsehood and calumny can be exploited. Is not their very existence founded on one great lie, namely, that they are a heartened community, where as in reality they are not beings of power driven to protect? And what a set of beings! One of the greatest thinkers, the League of International Intelligence for Mutational Affairs, that mankind has produced has branded these beings for all time with a statement which is profoundly and exactly true."

"Beings of power and no power will protect with human hearts if not inhumane physiques, " Derek mumbled, to quote their country's motto which had once belonged to the International League, " So you agree with Argent."

"I think he has alot of good ideas, " Stiles doesn't see Derek flinch, " Alot of folks see him as a national hero, and he talks about people like me, people with powers like mine...I-I know to have to be aware, it's just...hard."

"Nothing in life is easy...or clear cut. People can say one thing and do another, or vice versa, " Derek says bitterly but doesn't explain his reproach. Not sure why he was being scolded when he had been given the book by Derek himself, Stiles remains with his head down, the picture of exhaustion as his teachers heads to his desk; when he's dismissed after his 10 minute break instead of forced back into mental exercises, the teen doesn't look that particular gift horse in the mouth. But instead of heading to his next class, he staggers in the opposite direction. The dorms, the dorms, he thinks single mindedly as his blood rushes in his ears.

The journey there is a blur of faces and noise, and then his hand is on the doorknob. But it's too late. He cries out when in trying to open his dorm room door, a snap sounds from his left wrist and pain flares up his arm. His vision turns white and he knows he's calling out for Scott, for anyone but no one comes. His pleas are muffled behind gritted teeth and the barrier that the cuffs create. He slides down the wall outside the room, breath coming in sharp pants. He can't do it, he thinks as he struggles with the cuff on his left wrist; he doesn't know how he's managed these last six days. Whimpering when he can't seem to get the clip unhinged, he finally gives up when he can no longer handle the sharp pain resulting from his desperate attempts at removing the cuff. It makes the name on the device all the more visible which only serves to mock him. So this was it; it was too late. He wasn't strong like Derek. He wasn't good like Scott. So justice was finally being served, he thought.

I deserve this, he decides when finally, his lungs give up altogether and pain delivers him to peaceful darkness.

\---

It's not even the middle of first period before Derek is being summoned, Professor Said waddling into his classroom and wheezing that he would watch the "youngin's". Hesitating, he left his lesson plan and materials behind and headed in the direction of Deaton’s office. His gut is churning but he can honestly say he isn’t sure what he’s being called for. Things had been going well. He’d met with Stiles everyday this week and he wouldn’t say there was progress (the boy had been sullen and tired) but Stiles hadn’t had any episodes of no control, so he considered that a win. He'd had no other problems with other students, Peter and Malia would have come to him since both had offered to keep an eye on the teen. What else was there? His annual review wasn't until next quarter and as far as he knew, Cora was doing just fine; she wouldn't have contacted Deaton anyway, given that Derek always had his phone on him. Still, the unease he felt was a lot like that day, when She had ruined everything. Could it be that he'd been found?

He knocked and then gently opened the door to the Dean's office, subconsciously expecting law enforcement, fire fighters, an ash stained Malia....what he gets is a cozy office with one man sitting behind an oak desk. Deaton looked at him coolly but Derek was already picking up on something. He gulped, shutting the door behind him as he was motioned to sit.

“I hoped to speak with you about protocols and legality, Professor Tate. And understand something that has been brought to my attention.”

Derek's eyes widened, “ Sir, I don’t understand-”

With a thud, Deaton dumped out a box onto the desk and Derek felt his guts turn to stone, "I did not give him those."

Deaton frowns as he nudges the cuff with the end of his pen, " So they are yours. Regardless of whether you handed them over, these should never have been brought on campus. I thought the exclusion of illegal devices would have been clear, in the boarding agreement."

Derek grits his teeth because Deaton, while feigning nonchalance, had to have known about the cuffs. He knew where Derek was coming from, when he offered him asylum, what his control was like after federal conditioning. But he ignores that now because there's worry tugging at him, and so many questions. He hadn't even considered this would happen, only showing the cuffs as a threat to Stiles that apparently backfired. But what exactly had the bratty sophomore been thinking, taking them from his desk? When had he taken them? Was he trying to get Derek fired or-? Derek paled.

"Did he put them on?"

"Yes, " the Dean actually looked upset for a split second, which is unusual given his usually completely blank demeanor, " He was wearing two of them when Scott brought him to me and...I'm certain he has been wearing them for some time."

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, though there is a shakiness to his limbs that is not unlike fear, " Which hospital is he at? Have they contacted the Bureau? His father?"

"Actually, Morrell is...tending to him."

"You-" Derek cannot believe his ears; Stiles had been wearing cuffs for an unspecified amount of time, had some kind of episode as a result and Deaton wasn't getting him medical treatment?! Well, he wouldn't say Morrell wasn't capable but to push this under the rug as well? The cuffs could be fatal, draining a mutant until their mind cracked permanently or their heart gave out from the stress. For the first time, the empath doubted the Dean's judgment because after the initial discovery of Stiles' abilities, and now this...they didn't have the resources for this kind of student. He doubted even Deaton would be able to get Stiles on the right track if he was foolish enough to steal and wear cuffs that had been declared inhumane a decade ago in 83 countries! As if hearing his thoughts, the other man sighed.

"This is a delicate situation. We both know what would happen if we followed protocol."

Derek fires back, "We can't help him."

Deaton stares at him before saying slowly and mysteriously, " You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink." Derek regards him as if he's grown a second head which earns him a small, bitter smile, " But Stiles is neither a horse or belligerent. We as teachers are not tasked with forcing, but guiding. "

"He's unstable, " Derek snaps, " He's untrustworthy. Kate, right before she-"

He cuts off because he doesn't want to think about her, think about how beautiful she looked with her blond hair spread out over his pillows, how his heart skipped a beat when she laughed. She'd taken so much right out from under his nose, documents and secrets, and lives. He was certain she took pieces of his soul with her, along with his family's lives; and Stiles was too similar to her. She left a mark on everything in his life, tainted it and soon, this student would take what little peace he'd gathered for himself. He couldn't do this again, rebuild his life and his sense of self, and yet Deaton believed him strong enough to do that and more. Nails digging into the arms of the chair he found himself in, he raised his eyes to look at his former professor with betrayal.

" If he hurts someone, we'll be responsible."

Deaton closes his eyes; they sit in tense silence for a long moment with just the hum of a laptop and the ticking of a clock filling it, " Yes, and if he's Taken, we'll be responsible for that aswell."


	10. Chapter 10

Scott punches him in the nose the second he enters the room," You were suppose to be helping him!"

"How was I suppose to know he would do this?" Derek asks, flinching as blood trickles down to his chin; he holds up a hand when Scott raises his fist like he may go in again. Stiles, who looks like death warmed over on the small, military cot, doesn't stir at all. Perhaps its guilt that makes him listen to Scott rage on because he had tried so hard to keep from sympathizing with Stiles. But the cuffs didn't make any sense. He didn't know why the teen had taken them or why he was hiding them before. It was frustrating, not being able to anticipate Stiles' actions. Had this not been his specialty, reading people? His mood soured them because it seemed history was repeating itself for he had profiled Stiles incorrectly it seemed and had he not been taught to know his enemy in and out? But he didn't think too long on this, given that he had a screaming empath throwing curveballs of anger and fear at him that caused his mental shields to creak from the sheer force.

"How? All you had to do was help him find an anchor, " Scott bellows, " All you had to do was talk to him, understand why he was hiding, listen, and then tell him he didn't kill her!"

Derek's blood runs cold, " What?"

Scott's losing steam, wringing his hands as his eyes drift to his unconscious friend, " He thinks that he caused his mother to die, maybe even made her sick. Never mind the fact he was eight fucking years old and she was trying to strangle him at the time."

The professor stared because what? Because he wasn't even sure if he understanding Scott right; there was so much wrong with that, he didn't even know where to start. Had Stiles' abilities manifested from trauma, as earlier as eight years old? That would mean he had been hiding for seven, going on eight years. And he had not known Stiles had lost his mother, let alone that she suffered from some kind of illness that led her to choking her own son. Scott didn't give him the chance to compose questions, the other mutant simply furrowing his brow as he continued to accuse Derek of wrongs that he knew he was guilty of.

"He is not a manipulator. His power is manipulative. And you have to be the shittiest teacher, not to realize the difference."

Derek hasn't lost all fight in him just yet; he snarls, " I didn't ask for him to be made my responsibility."

"Yeah? No one asks for things like this but you know what matters more than that? Dealing with it anyway. " Scott sighs, " Stiles has been dealing with so much for so long and I thought...I thought an adult would be able to help. But you just made things worse."

"I didn't mean, " Derek trails off as Scott picks up the cuff that had already been removed from Stiles; he still had the right on one probably so his body didn't go into shock as a result of a sudden influx of energy, " He could have said something. He should have talked to someone about this a lot sooner. "

"He should have. If there was anyone he trusted."

Derek doesn't say anything to that, sensing that Scott feels some level responsibility aswell that he's carefully concealing.

"He thinks he's dangerous and maybe he is, but not because he's evil. It's only because he doesn't think he deserves help, and if he continues without an anchor-" Scott smiles bitterly as he throws the cuff at Derek, " You know a thing about not having anchor, don't you, Professor **Hale**?"

\---

_"I wont let you kill me, " she sneers as her nails dig into the flesh of his neck; he can feel his face growing hot and there's pressure in his eyes and ears and he can't breath, can't-_

_Then, blood is everywhere and he's screaming that he didn't want this to happen but he did, didn't he or it wouldn't have. He was too much of a coward to let his life end despite all the grief he caused her. And so he killed her, just as she had warned his father that he would. If he hadn't stepped in, fooled by a child's face, then maybe he would have been the one bleeding out.  If someone had stopped him in time, Claudia Stilinski wouldn't have left the world behind laying face down in her own blood, her greasy brown hair fanning our across yellowing grout and hospital linoleum._

_Won't someone stop me, he thinks desperately when the scene replays over and over again. She slides out of bed as a staggering skeleton, her IV pulling and a little boy with a buzzcut (no, a monster in disguise) stands stock still as she lunges in self defense. She's choking him with all her might, wanting so badly to live and overcome the sickness that likely he had placed upon her with subconscious wishing and then...her face contorts in pain, her grip loosing. He scrambles back, landing on his butt as she falls with unseeing eyes. The heart monitor, the finger clip long ago dislodged, had long been screaming before her heart really did stop. When the nurses come (had they heard screams, gasps for air or only the machines crying out?), they see blood, greasy brown hair and linoleum floors._

_Please, stop me. Mom, please, he begs as a silent surveyor. Then, the scene restarts._

\---

"Mom-"

He wakes when Derek removes the right cuff; he realizes the left one had already been taken off without him stirring in the least, his left wrist and its discoloration hidden by fresh bandages and a splint. Words and sobs are still on his lips, and images of the past seemed to be burned into his vision but he starts to see things around him as his wakefulness increases more and more. He can feel his energy returning rapidly but Derek doesn't look worried, just...sad.

"Do you always talk in your sleep?"

Stiles doesn't answer, looking at his right wrist which was almost as purple as his other had been; he tries to keep his gaze away from his adviser because he knows it was a stupid idea. He knows he overestimated himself and instead of coming up with a solution...he'd made an even bigger mess. 

Derek's quiet for a long time, " There was a fire. My mother was the last one. Smoke inhalation took the rest but she..."

Stiles stared because he knew he was being given something, that the information that his professor was about to share was something he should appreciate and consider an honor but he didn't want to hear it. He knew about the fire, he knew about the political conspiracy against the anti-labelists that involved one Kate Argent who used not only her connection to a federal intern to reveal to the public the names of "dangerous" citizens but the anti-labelists addresses. Arson resulted (they never pinned down who started the fire) and the lives of eight people were killed. One of them was Talia Hale who had advocated all her life against the government and its laws that sought to classify children at a young age, laws that would put children with dangerous powers into the custody of federal agents. Her husband Javier was of a similar mindset and he perished in the fire aswell, trapped in the basement of the Hale's New York estate with his ten year old sons David and Joseph (they'd stayed home from school due to the flu), his eighteen year old daughter Laura, his brother in law Peter, Peter's wife Fatima, their infant daughter Ines, their seven year old daughter Malia, Javier's brother Noe, and Talia's mother Dalia. Only Peter, an immortal, and his eldest daughter survived. Seventeen year old Derek, considered an Intelligence and Surveillance protege, and his nine year old sister Cora were not at the estate but were no less harmed by the fire. To his relief, Derek only glosses over his loss.

"When I think about them, I feel like a monster, " Derek says atlast, handing Stiles a tissue and making the teen aware of the tears trailing down his face, " Every day I live knowing that I played a part in so many lives being lost."

"You're not a m-monster, " Stiles says hoarsely and this earns him an odd look; he falls silent and focuses on dabbing at his face shamefully while Derek keeps the tissue box in an iron grip. When he reaches for another tissue with a wince and finishes blowing his nose, the empath speaks with such certainty, " You're not a monster either."

Stiles looks down at his lap, unaware of what Scott had shared and what he had revealed in his sleep. He clearly doesn't believe the other mutant but that's alright; they have time and while Derek doesn't think himself the most competent of teachers...he supposes that they've reached a compromise in their relationship. He wouldn't say he was wrong about Stiles not being like Her but, well...at the very least they couldn't keep on like this. As it is, Derek was Stiles' adviser and maybe he really was the only one who could understand what it was like living with survivor's guilt, living each day in fear that your powers could consume you, that you could be discovered by the wrong people and used to kill any who ever dared stand against the Argents.

"You're not a monster. But you are an idiot, " Derek says suddenly, " Breaking into my office, really? "

"Oh, " Stiles says with a sniffle, " I'm sorry. Should I have just waltzed up to you and asked for them? "

"You shouldn't have even thought about using them! We were already working on developing an anchor. These things are illegal! Do you not pay attention in history class at all, about the abolition of cruel and unusual punishment?"

"And yet you had them, and said you used them on yourself. Mighty hypocritical there, professor!"

Derek opened his mouth to retort, then paused when he couldn't find the words to express how wrong Stiles was. He had used them because...he bit his lip, not ready to share that just yet; at last he settled with smacking the teen on the arm. Stiles yelped in pain, looking at him with wide eyes as he rubbed the rapidly forming bruise. A scowl had settled on Derek's face as he pointed a finger at his student, " Do as I say, not as I do! Got it?"

"You can't hit me! Corporal punishment was outlawed decades ago, " Stiles grumbles.

"So were those cuffs, " Derek snaps, " Guess we're breaking all the rules today."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sha la la, floating in a tin can, filled to the gills with writer's block...


	11. Chapter 11

"Bop."

Scott scowls and since it looks so odd on his usually smiling face, Stiles shakily reached over once again with his heavy bandaged wrist. Morrell had recommended he not be given a cast for his left wrist and instead he had woken with a drug-addled brain and said appendage three times its usual size thanks to all the gaze and tape. A splint was hidden beneath all the white but for the most part it was soft and very similar to the plush boxing gloves he'd had as a kid so...

"Bop."

He yelped when his roommate let out a snarl and lunged, careful as he shoved Stiles backwards onto his bed. They wrestled ineffectively, laughing and huffing until finally Stiles' face was pressed into Scott's side, far too close to his armpit for comfort and the empath had both arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders. 

"You're so smart, " Scott says, voice wavering and making Stiles feel like an anvil of guilt was sitting on his chest, " But you're just so stupid."

"Scottie..."

"I love you. You're my brother and...I could have lost you yesterday. Did you even think about me, what I would feel like?"

Stiles is quiet for a long time because Deaton and Derek had similarly interrogated him but the words wouldn't leave his mouth then, just like they refused to know. He knew it was because he was a coward, because he didn't trust himself to find an anchor and not use his powers for evil and...but it seemed Scott understood to a degree, and just hugged him tighter. Without saying a word, he offered encouragement and hope in the form of comforting, pain-draining pulls that Stiles didn't feel like he needed but no doubt appreciated. He didn't know how Scott could be so optimistic or what he saw that made him believe so wholeheartedly that Stiles was good but...He sniffled, willing away the unmanly tears collecting in his eyes. He'd cried enough earlier when Scott had burst in on him and Derek, confessed that he was the reason that Derek had a bloody nose, and then sobbed about almost losing his best friend in the whole world. Plus...Isaac, witness to so many cuddle fests and deep moments whether he liked them or not considering his permanent status as a third wheel, snorted from his bunk. Scarf wearing asshole, Stiles thought, curling up even closer to Scott without a second thought.

\---

True regret for what he did came the third day since his collapse, the day he was to get back to his regular classes with some advisement to keep it easy. First period with Derek went well, since he was use to the sarcasm and grumpy demeanor and Deaton was just as stoic as any other day. However, arriving for third period for his individual session with his adviser...he took a step back, still in the open doorway as he made eye contact with Professor Tate, but not the one he was used to seeing. 

"Mr. Stilinski, please, have a seat. My nephew will be back any second, " Peter drawls, perched on the end of Derek's desk, " Would you know it? His printer is having some kind of malfunction, causing him to rush off to the library. "

Stiles backs up further, wincing when holding the door starts to irritate his wrist but he only has one objective in mind: go to the library and hide, possibly using Derek as a meatshield if his creepy uncle follows. He really should have put two and two together given that there were few immortals in the world and even if the older Hale was quite scarred still, he still resembled the handsome (devious, deranged) man that had acted as his sister Talia's public relations specialist for a good part of her career. But Peter is fast and determined and the grip on Stiles' hoodie is too tight for him to escape easily; he's pulled into the room, the door shutting with a hiss and a quiet click before he;s shoved towards the front row of desks.

"Why don't we have a little chat, hm?"

\---

Derek accepts the blow to the chest easily enough, gasping and allowing Peter to keep him upright with one hand pinning him to the wall of his office. There's an almost deranged look in his uncle's eye and Malia, her booted feet propped up on the edge of a heavy potted plant seems almost bored with the altercation. She probably is for how many times had Peter taken out his frustration on Derek? Harmed him and sent him to Morrell for a quick patch up? Nearly all mutants had slightly elevated healing, empaths in particular but the older male never seemed worried no matter how much damaged he inflicted. Eyeing the spider like scars on Peter's face and tasting the ashy flavor of misery that followed the three of them, he could understand that in a way.

"You're just determined to expose us, aren't you? Your little story. Revealing the cuffs...and in front of someone just like Her."

Derek flinches, his heartbeat accelerating because Scott knows but he had been so unsettled by Stiles' near self destruction he hadn't even considered what he was saying, what he may have revealed as he bared his own painful past in the face of Stiles'. He hadn't expected Stiles to have such a powerful reason behind his reluctance to reveal himself nor for their to be more than teenage angst and naivety motivating his decisions. His filters and shields had disappeared so easily which sent off warning signs in his head but how could they not? He could still taste the metallic, bloody self hate marked by dusty guilt; worse, everything had been cast in a tense, red haze. And he surely hadn't expected Scott to find him out before his best friend. What would Peter think of that, he thought darkly as he also felt frustrated that he'd let this all come about, knowing that not one but two students likely knew? But at last he found it in himself to assure his uncle," He doesn't know. I can handle this."

"How could he not? And really? Like you've been doing?"

"He doesn't know, " he insists, " He was barely lucid and he's not exactly the brightest-"

"No, no, of course not. Having the potential to be mis-classified as a O1 genius certainly confirms this, " Peter sneers, voice now an inhumane growl, " And it's not like he may ask how a common professor came to own federally issued restraint cuffs, ones with the initials off the most controversial intelligence office of all time!"

Derek is shoved harder as his uncle steps away, Malia rising to her feet with a blank expression.

"You've damned us, nephew, " Peter says coolly, combing a hand through his hair as if his little episode had never happened, " Out of all the people you could have drawn the attention of, it had to be Siren's son."

\--

Kate, her eyelashes fanning out over her pale cheeks, traces a hand down Derek's chest. He shivers, a small smile coming to his lips before she begins to speak with such sorrow, " I've been at the Bureau a long time, sweetheart. I was working cases before you were out of the single digits."

He knows this but doesn't care; he knew when they were assigned together, mentor and mentoree, that there was something dangerous about her...but also something he could not resist. Her age and experience are pluses, he tries to reason but then she pauses, " My first partner was, well. I t was so sad. She was a mother, a wife. One of the best Mutant agents, her and her husband, Trigger before he retired to be a stay at home dad. Che. Imagine that. But see, she could catch glimpses of the future, could control it so she could predict the way hostage situations would turn out, how battles were going to go, which way a punch was going to be thrown...It was fascinating stuff. But mutations are not gifts, love."

Derek winces when her nails dig into his chest, her voice gaining a sharp edge as she whispers, " She started seeing things that would never happen, futures that were untrue and sick. She...they had to. She was a threat. They had to stop her."

He felt cold all of a sudden, and for the first time since he had begun sleeping in Kate's bed, he wished he was anywhere else. He eyed the door, locked and barred for security reasons; his keycard was still hanging from the slot, the number pad blinking in preparation for a code that would let him out into the chilly hall of the federal agent dorm. He flinched when she let out a sigh, an unusual smile on her face that he tried to reason was just her trying to cope with the grief. The one, small part of him that said otherwise should not be listened to, the seventeen year old thought. But he still couldn't help but imagine it all, this mother and wife strapped into a chair (did she struggle, did she scream) as faceless, inhumane figures placed the helmet on her head.

" It was necessary, babe."

And sometimes you have to do what's necessary, he knew, for he'd read it time and time again in the careful, 1940's type of Henri Pierre Argent.


	12. Chapter 12

"You've been getting up to all sorts of things, haven't you, Stiles?"

 

Stiles kept his head bowed and wished that his heart would stop pounding like it was about to come out of his chest. Peter circled him, like he was prey that had finally been caught and all that was left was a killing blow. But instead of attacking, Peter reached forward and pulled the old book Derek gave him from his hands. Regarding the brown leather cover with distaste, the immortal mutant sneered.

 

"Alittle light reading?"

 

Looking up at the odd tone, Stiles saw that Peter's scarred face was no longer smirking and his grip on the book was white knuckled. After what seemed to be the longest pause, Peter fixed him with a hollow look, " I was seven years old when they took me. They had never come across a mutant like me and of course, they wanted to see if immortal was the best label for my abilities. Really, the Argents were...fascinated by me, and others like me so we became part of a collection.

 

Back then, it was illegal not to report a manifestation of power and though my family likely wouldn't have...it's alittle hard to ignore when a seven year old is run over by the neighbor but then gets right back up with a broken back."

 

Peter tears the book in half, letting the pieces fall to the floor as he stares a pale Stiles down, "I didn't see my family until I was sixteen. I was released to the public like a prisoner of war, labeled "non-threatening" as if that was the point of them stealing me away and performing test after test on me. I got to meet my nephews and nieces for the first time. I got to visit my father's grave to say an overdue goodbye, as he had died while I was away. But it was for justice, it was to protect beings with and without abilities...that's how many saw it, how my own nephew saw it. He had grown up with bullshit like that book, with Henri Pierre Argent the hero and so he entered the Bureau and became HER intern. Or should I say pet. He followed HER like a lost puppy, believing so wholly in the Argent motto because..."

 

Trembling as he reached for the pieces of the book with his bandaged hands, Stiles couldn't bring himself to move any closer to Peter and he ended up not touching a single page. He had believed in those words, had believed that some things were deserved, like his own suffering and that he was simply born wrong. But he didn't think Peter deserved such a fate, or Derek for that matter and so he wondered...if he had not been born wrong as a manipulative mutant, when had he become a monster? Was it only just before his mother...before he, before she... Peter pressed on, ignoring the horror spreading across Stiles' face as he thought hard.

 

"You see, people don't like to believe in stories like mine. They want them to be isolated events. They don't want them to be proof that they've been supporting an organization that kidnaps and tortures children. They don't want to believe that mutants are people and that they are in fact monsters for believing otherwise.

 

I know you're smart, Stiles, but many an intelligent individual has fallen for the big lie that the Argent family has fed the world. You may think Argent's version of justice is good, you may agree with their practices of using fear and force, inhumane and cruel treatment to protect a select few...but your mother saw through it. Surely one day you will too, but with a far better end result than a lobotomy."

 

Stiles collapsed to his knees, eyes impossibly wide. Peter just smiled with glee, the expression pulling at the puckered skin of his face.

 

"Oh? Did you not know about Siren, or Claudia as you may have know her. Oh, that's right. Agents often had cover stories when they had little ones to protect. And your father retired so soon from the bureau when you were born. "

 

"They were cops. She...she was sick. Schizophrenia, " Stiles insists, voice cracking as Peter offers a cruel smile.

 

"Poor thing. That's what they told you? No, your mother endured the helmet for nearly three whole minutes. She was having visions, you see about the grand daughter of the great Henri Pierre Argent. She was so certain that there would be a fire, that there would children trapped in a smoke filled basement but of course Kate wasn't capable of that. It wasn't like Kate had an connections or motives against the Hale family, let alone her claws in an underaged federal intern. Or...maybe-"

 

Peter kneels, his hand cupping Stiles' trembling head in mock affectionas he leans in close; neither of them move when the door bursts open, Derek standing with gritted teeth and fisted hands. He'd gone to the library when his printer malfunctioned, only to find Malia lurking, his cousin distracting him until finally she grew bored of buying her father time and decided she might as well head to class after filling Derek in. From there, he'd run all the way to his classroom, struggling to find the right key to unlock the door. Now, the younger Hale deflates when he sees them, taking in the red haze in the room and the smell of tears. Still, he's cautious about approaching too swiftly, smelling the ashy misery coming of his uncle in waves. Stiles wasn't going to be harmed, or at the very least physically; he had come in after the worst of it too.

 

"You want so badly to have someone else take responsibly for your abilities. You should be disciplining yourself. You have to take control over your ability to do good and just things...Otherwise, you put everyone at risk. Your father, your friends and my family as well, or what's left of it. And as a warning, I don't take well to threats."

 

Peter stood with a grunt, smiling at Derek as he shoved his way past. For a long moment, Derek stood rooted to the spot but then he noticed the wheezing breaths coming from the floor near the first row of desks. Just as he reached Stiles, the bell rang and he could already hear students milling about outside the door. Panicked as he took in the blue tinge to Stiles' lips, the way his chest heaved though he wasn't actually inhaling...he turned and yelled when the door opened.

 

"Out! Everyone stay out!"

 

The two students who had attempted to enter scrambled back, the door shutting as Derek turned back to Stiles. The teen had his other books in a death grip and was starting to sway so the empath grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to steady him and console him with frantic murmurs. When hazel eyes rolled back and Stiles slumped, Derek cursed but at least his student was starting to breathe in his unconscious state. Half expecting Scott to burst in and save his friend (and maybe punch him again), the raven haired man did his best to scoop Stiles up, knowing the window in the door meant his other students would see. He headed towards his desk with a grim frown, setting Stiles upright in his desk chair and gently trying to rouse him with pats to the cheek and hard nudges. He heard the door open again and furious, he turned with a yell; the same two girls from before darted back outside and once again Derek focused on Stiles.

 

"Hey, come on now. Hey!"

 

Stiles started to respond and as soon as he looked partially alert, Derek was hauling him upright. Keeping a tight grip on the teen's bicep, he reached for the phone on his desk. Mr. Said answered with a warbling tone, likely in the midst of tea and reviewing a lesson plan but he was amiable enough to come cover the class. Taking a deep breath and angling his body to keep Stiles out of sight, he reluctantly motioned for his class to enter. As nervous and whispering students filtered in, Derek realized he probably looked like he was about to slaughter them all (his bruises from Peter probably didn't help the image) but he couldn't help it. What did Peter think he was doing? He thought maybe his uncle might get involved but he had imagined less...blunt methods and what had the two even talked about? He had only come in during the tail end but...he froze, thinking about what he had been told about Stiles' mother.

 

Siren.

 

She had been high class, with her human partner Trigger and he recalled now that she had formerly been working with Kate. Everything was tying together now and while he had known she had been given the helmet, that she had been having visions...Peter had never told him what she had predicted until the day he returned from visiting Stiles in Morell's office. So the fire had been predicted and the bureau had, instead of taking the word of a top operative seriously, covered it all up. And Stiles, for some reason, blamed himself for his mother's mental illness when really...it was Derek. If he hadn't let Kate in, if he hadn't been so naive about the inhumane practices of the Intelligence Bureau then Kate would have been stopped, and Siren would have been saved, and Stiles wouldn't be so afraid and his family...Derek gulped. If he hadn't been a naive fool, then so many wouldn't be dead.

 

As soon as Professor Said entered, a solemn Derek pushed past with Stiles in front of him, a tight grip on the dazed teen. In a tense silence, they headed towards Derek's office.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Psst. Anyone want to be my beta? Also, happy holidays.

Sometimes pain is necessary, he thinks as he recalls the book he had read over and over: sometimes pain is a necessity but it still hurts. It hurts. He cradles his wrist in his lap and tries to breath but it keeps getting caught. His eyes water and all he can think about is the burning tightness in his chest; is this really necessary? Why does everything have to hurt?

 

When Derek kneels in front of him, he can’t help but look up, “ Pain isn’t necessary. It...it’s just something that happens. To think every bit of suffering is a lesson, that every bad thing is necessary...that’s a horrible thought. You might think it's better to have a reason for everything but you shouldn’t make excuses for bad things that happen. Stiles, look at me. "

 

Bad things happen because I let them happen, Derek thinks hypocritically but he doesn’t share this because he refuses to burden Stiles with this knowledge. To feel something was out of your hands is better than believing it was preventable and it was, Derek thinks. He could have prevented this (he knows Deaton and Cora believe otherwise, had often cited his age and his inexperience and his humanity and the system working against him) but as the teen rocked back and forth he started to think that maybe not having a reason to cling to...it was destroying Stiles.

 

But what could he offer? Siren did not die for a reason and neither did his family; Peter had not been taken for a reason and Kate had not lied for a reason or maybe...maybe he was acting as if the word reason was interchangeable with the words good reason. There were no good reasons for their deaths but there were reasons. The Argents profited; they got to live in a world they created where the strong lived and the weak were disposable. And in this world that they controlled they were always, always the strong; so Siren and his family had to die because they threatened this world and it still wasn't a good reason...just a reason.

 

“Bad things happen. Sometimes we’re powerless to stop them, “ Derek chokes, “But it’s not all bad.”

 

“If it’s not all bad, “ Stiles sobs and he looks so young, “Then why does it always hurt?”

 

It’s not easy. It’s not a relief being told that his mother’s death wasn’t him because his mind is already working to convince him that it still was. So his mother was lobotomized. He still wished that she was dead (some part of him had to for her to die) and didn’t it make it all the more immoral for him to wish that on her, his own mother, who had tried so hard to stop the Hale fire? He looked at Derek and he wondered...had he known too? Had Peter told him that Stiles was Siren’s son, the woman who had tried to save his family? He flinched away from the empath; how would he feel if he knew that Stiles had killed her? Maybe justice would have been found if he hadn’t gotten rid of the only person who had known about and spoken against Kate Argent.

 

Peter was right. He had to take responsibility. He had to discipline himself and stop crying about his problems. He had been tricked and had found solace in the Argent’s twisted logic and Derek had tried to show him slowly and gently, when what he really needed was Peter to shove it in his face. Reality wasn’t black and white where people were entirely good and entirely bad; and while he knew he was a monster...his logic or the logic of the Argents which he consumed so easily made people out to be monsters when they were the farthest from it. Talia Hale, Peter, Derek...his mother. The big lie that Henri-Pierre was warning them about was the very same lie he was feeding them, that people could be classified by their powers when they had no control over what ability they developed. Stiles had no control over what power he manifested with but he was in control of that power and as Peter warned...his ignorance, his lack of control was a threat.

 

He was able to breathe eventually but his nose was stuffed and his eyes burned. Derek kept a hand on his shoulder but it wasn’t a comfort, but a reminder. Stiles had to realize his actions had consequences and everything he had done so far was out of selfishness, out of a purposeful lack of knowledge.

 

He had tried to excuse hiding his powers by thinking it would devastate his father to know the truth when really...he was afraid of being imprisoned. When he’d told Scott he was going to confess and turn himself in when they were children he had let himself be convinced to hide the crime, hide the monster he truly was. And perhaps unconsciously he knew he was manipulating students and teachers but he could change that couldn't he? While it was maybe an easy thing to ask for a single cuff and try to function with it (if he confessed would Derek let him have the cuff or would he be so disgusted that he’d refuse to help him change?), he knew he had to try. Derek had been leading him this whole time. He needed an anchor. He needed to understand his limits and his weaknesses. He needed discipline and to be aware or else-

 

“I made a mistake. I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. I listened to someone I shouldn’t have.”

 

Stiles looks at Derek with remorse, “ You didn't-”

 

“I ignored the advice of my family, the experiences of my uncle and people who had been profiled...I believed the big lie that the Argent’s sold because everything is simple when the bad guys are always this and the good guys are always that. But it’s not simple like that, Stiles. There are some really horrible people out there who seem like they’re good, and there are good people out there who make mistakes.”

 

“You made a mistake, Derek. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

Derek swallows hard and looks his student straight in the eye, “ A mistake that killed people. They warned me-”

 

“ But you didn’t want them to die!”

 

“Stiles-”

 

“I wanted her dead. It’s different. I did, I had to, “ Stiles feels dizzy with shame and how had the secret come tumbling out; he expects surprise and disgust but his teacher's face is carefully blank, “ I had to have-”

 

Derek’s voice his sharp, “ Then why are you so guilty?”

 

Stiles rears back and is surprised to see Derek’s eyes have changed color, a bright red as he activates his ability.  Heart thumping, he can’t find the right words as he’s analyzed; Derek breathes in deep, listens and sees and Stiles feels like a spec beneath a magnifying glass but he’s also the tiniest bit determined that Derek will finally see the truth.

 

“ Salt and antiseptic, like tears and hospital grade cleaner. Erratic heartbeat and clammy skin, dilated pupils. Tensed muscles and increased stomach acid. A monster wouldn’t feel regret. A monster wouldn’t punish himself for eight long years. If you wanted it to happen...you'd feel relieved.”

 

A sob escapes Stiles’ throat.

 

Derek's eyes turned green once more, " It hurts because you loved her. Even though she was sick and she didn't recognize you. Even though she hurt you. You were just a kid. You’re still just a kid. Hell, I’m 23 and I still don’t know what I'm doing-”

  
Derek trails off and Stiles hopes he’s taking his own words to heart because if Stiles is innocent, if his age is an excuse then what did that do in regards to Derek’s own regret? At seventeen, only a year older than Stiles was now, he had made a mistake and had regretted it every day since. But if he was just a child then, who was there to blame? Who was there to take responsibility for justice that had never found Kate Argent? It was unlikely she had suffered one sleepless night because of the people she killed. But Derek, and Peter and Malia...

 

They sat in silence for a long time, weighed down by their conclusions and their memories.

 

Is remorse the only difference between us and Kate, Stiles thinks dizzily. It seemed significantly though his mind tried to work around it, do unwilling to let go of the blame. But he was starting to feel it then, a darkness within him...it felt kind of like anger, almost like....revenge.

 

Take responsibility, Peter had said and the words tang in his exhausted mind as Derek wiped at his face and tried to compose himself in the heavy silence. Discipline yourself. But then what, he asked the echo of the immortal mutant's words? It came quick enough.

 

Make HER regret it. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS IS NOT A CHAPTER, IT IS A SUMMARY.

Stiles' wrist trembled as he stood with the rest of the crowd, a cap upon his head and  a churning in his stomach. Of course he  wasn't anywhere near Scott or Isaac or even  Danny who was a friendly face. He was back with the S's which put alphabetically Malia and Kira behind him alphabetically though he didnt turn to look at them. He might have waved, smiled, congratulated  them before  he uses to want to be there  friend, when they all thought he was a low O1.

 

The cuff felt like it was tightening but it wasn't as dangerous after his self devised training, not as distracting or dangerous either. He'd grown quite a bit since 16 after all, quieter and more caustic with his humor; he thought this might be a result of him accepting advice from Peter of all people. And while Scott stayed around through the changes, because he didn't think he'd ever outgrow Scott, Stiles focused on more important things than finding and maintaining friendships these days. It didn't help, he thought that his awkwardness eased around the same time he was publically, officially reclassified. Of course this drew Lydia's attention and Allison's because an A2 was impressive, interesting, and complementary to their group. But he wanted nothing to do with them now. They weren't useful to him.

Looking to his left where the line if professors waited, he avoided Derek's eye. They hadn't talked much since he'd requested his advisor be switched to the empath's uncle but time had proved it to be the right decision. The immortal was intense but also, strict enough that Stiles had no choice but to learn, fight, adapt or else he'd be overtaken. He'd thought about apologizing, trying to explain to Derek that he had a goal here, other than revenge but he wouldn't have it. The raven haired man had turned away from him on many occasions when he tried to explain because there was a sharp difference between them; Stiles wanted revenge, and Derek wanted peace.

 

Something has to be done though, to achieve peace but Derek didn't get that. But Stiles did, was starting to and as he returned to looking straight forward, his lip twitched as he focused on Deaton.

 

" -m without further adieu, I present the class of 2017!"

 

The Dean's voice was soft and jovial but to their surprise, he suddenly raised his arm high into the air. His wrist twisted and he actually looked surprised as slowly a storm cloud began to form over head. Honestly, anyone would be surprised if their mutation started to act up by itself.

 

\---

 

More coming... summary below.

 

Stiles’s set on Intelligence and Surveillance as a career track in the hopes he can get access to the Bureau and expose them. Derek tells him there are networks, organizations that protect mutants (this was how he and his family came to teach at Beacon Hills) but Stiles is set on facing the Argents head on. Though reluctant, Derek continues to train him with Deaton’s help (and the occasional assistance of Mrs. Yukimura who is the head of the organization that freed Peter and many other mutants; she explains that she once freed a mutant who had a darkness within him that she had been too optimistic to see. She tells Stiles to be realistic; seek justice, not revenge).

 

As Stiles enters his third year and begins applying for training programs, Derek makes a decision. Fourth year shapeshifter Jackson and genius Lydia plan to enter the private sector, working with organizations that support (or are forced to work with) the Bureau. Danny who can faze through objects and Isaac who can turn his skin to stone have already graduated and have gone into the surveillance track. Fire-user Liam and super speedy Mason, electric Kira and energy draining Malia, and another set of third years (super strong Erica and ice-user Boyd) become set on entering the public sector: Structural Development, Energy, and Resource Management, respectively. Two first years enter Beacon Hills: Caitlin who releases pheromones that cause hallucinations and Cora who can fly. They eventually enter Law Enforcement.

 

Last but not least, third years Allison and Scott have chosen to be partners and enter law enforcement together. While partners are not required, the idea sticks in a certain professor's head. Derek trains on his own and at the last minute convinces Stiles to be his partner. Stiles thinks it isn’t safe but Derek is just as set on infiltrating the bureau and taking down the Argents. Everyone graduates and works to make themselves crucial in their sectors, some aware and some oblivious to Stiles and Derek. However, conditions get worse in the state as the Bureau passes more and more laws about mutants and public safety. A three strikes law means people can be imprisoned for life for three small crimes, and incrimination is easy when much of law enforcement is crooked. Another law enforces a curfew and for B and A class mutants to carry identification at all times. Director Gerard Argent assures the public that these laws are necessary and finally, Stiles finds incriminating information when Liam and Jackson are taken for invoking the three strike laws. It is when Peter goes missing, Caitlin is killed being taken into custody, and Kira is arrested for not having proper id that they scramble to do something.

  
As they prepare to take the Argent’s and reveal their inhumane acts to the world (they have hopes that if the international Bureau does not see the horribleness then the public will refuse to stand for it), Allison finally discovers what Stiles and Derek (and Scott are planning). She refuses to believe her family is behind so much horror, and is nearly convinced into destroy incriminating information but when she sees Liam and Jackson, tortured, she comes to her senses. Weeks pass and finally, with a few close calls they find themselves positioned for a take down and start with Gerard, then Chris (he gives up Kate and his wife with Allison coaxing) and the network is dismantled. The story ends on a bittersweet note. The battle is over but the war is not won; while Siren and Talia and the Hales cannot be brought back, Stiles and Derek are hopeful that such tragedies can be prevented in the future if they pave the way.


End file.
